The Murtlap Thief
by RainCityWriter
Summary: This story explores the idea of what if it had been Harry trying to snitch ingredients from Snape during his fifth year after detentions with Umbridge? What would Snape do if he found out about Umbridge? Warnings: Spanking, some coarse language, somewhat AU but mostly canon compliant. No pairings, no slash.
1. Chapter 1 - Getting Caught

_AN: This story is an answer to the question of what might have happened to Harry if he had raided Snape's potion stores in his fifth year rather than relying on Dobby to do so. This is a stand-alone story and unrelated to any of my other works. I do not own Harry Potter, and I mean no copyright infringement for this story. I am not going to post chapter warnings, just assume that I won't own Harry Potter at any point in this story. Warnings: Spanking (corporal punishment), no romance and no slash. This is slightly AU but as canon compliant as I can make it._

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Harry crept to the potions store under the cover of the invisibility cloak, watching carefully to make sure that nobody would see him. Hermione had told him that she could make a potion that could ease his hand if he could get strained and pickled murtlap, and the only place he knew he could get it was in Snape's stores. Feeling slightly suicidal in his daring, he crept to the storage closet. He had dared a few times over the years to raid Snape's stores, but he knew not to do it unless absolutely necessary. He was unable to sleep due to the burning in his hand, so he decided it was worth it.

Harry reflected that he could have gotten something from Madame Pomfrey, who had a decent reputation for not asking too many questions. But he thought that even she would have reported something to Dumbledore or McGonagall, and he did not want that. He knew in a deep way that this was between him and the pink toad, and he didn't want to put Dumbledore in the uncomfortable position of having to defend Harry to the Ministry. He could take it.

His hand, still burning from the cuts put into it from that bloody black quill, reached out to try the handle. He knew it would be locked, so he raised his wand and whispered, "Alohomora." Surprisingly, the door swung open to welcome him into the potions cupboard. If he had known it was this easy, he would have broken into the potions cupboard much sooner.

Walking inside and dropping the cloak from his face, he began to examine the shelves for Murtlap of any kind. But just as his hand was reaching for a jar of pickled Murtlap, he felt a commanding presence behind him. Gulping, his stomach twisted and his spine shivered at being caught. Praying it was not who he was afraid it was, he slowly turned his head.

"Are you lost, Mr. Potter?" he heard the silky, dangerous voice of Severus Snape ask. "I can't imagine why you would be out of bed at this hour and rifling through my potions supply cupboard."

"Professor," Harry said.

"And I wonder why only your head is visible?" he asked with a sardonic lilt in his voice.

"Sorry, sir," he said automatically, quickly taking off the cloak.

"Sorry?" he asked, his voice acid. "I do not believe you to be now, but I expect that to change over the course of the next hour."

Harry, gulping down his fear at that last comment, tried to school his features not to betray his fear. He had to admit that Snape was fairly scary at the best of times, and being caught red handed stealing from the man after curfew was definitely not the best of times.

"Er, okay," Harry answered. "I think I'll be headed back up to my dorm now. A growing boy needs his sleep and all that."

"You think that, do you?" Snape asked again in that voice that brought shivers to Harry's spine. "A growing boy, indeed."

"I'll just be going then."

"No, Mr. Potter, you won't be," Snape told him firmly, never wavering from the soft and dangerous tones. "You will follow me into my office or I will stun you and levitate you into my office."

Harry gulped. This was looking bad. What was he going to do with him?

"Really, sir, we can talk about detentions tomorrow . . ."

"What makes you think I'm giving you a detention?" Snape asked smoothly. "It seems to me that you've had plenty of those, and they have had very little effect on your belief that you may break any rule you wish. I think we are going to try something else tonight." Snape then flounced off, his robes billowing.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, nearly trotting to keep up with the man's long strides.

Snape didn't answer him, and instead set a quick clip through the passageway to his office. They were there in under a minute, and Harry found himself being ushered in. Ominously, Snape locked the door and cast a muffling spell on the door. Harry suddenly felt very wary.

"I mean, Mr. Potter, that you have had to answer for precious little of your rule-breaking at Hogwarts these past years," Snape told him in a serious tone. "But by God you will answer tonight."

"Do you want me to write lines?" Harry asked, his eyes wide. He had had enough of those with Umbridge.

"No, not lines," Snape told him, going over to a cupboard and rummaging through it. "I don't see how that would be appropriate in the middle of the night."

"Detention tomorrow then?" he asked, chewing on his lip. Snape was making him feel very, very nervous. "Perhaps all week?"

"I am going to punish you as I would if you were a Slytherin I had caught doing what you had been doing," Snape told him, still looking through the cupboard. "Here it is then." Snape withdrew a long, thin plank that had been molded into a handle at one end.

"Professor?" Harry asked, confused. Snape had his full attention now.

"Six of the best," Snape told him. "Bend over the desk, Mr. Potter."

"You can't be serious!" Harry cried, beginning to panic. "Professor, you can't do that!"

"I can and I will," Snape told him, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Now bend over that desk before I put you in a body-bind."

"They don't allow you to do this," Harry protested. "Nobody gets punished like this at Hogwarts."

"Just because your head of house chooses not to use the paddle, doesn't mean that it's not used," Snape told him smoothly. "Any Slytherin out of bed after curfew trying to steal from my potions stores would know what to expect."

Harry believed him. He saw his Potions professor in his long black robes standing impossibly tall over him with a wicked-looking paddle in his hand and believed him. And that fact sent his stomach twisting. Could he get out of it? Run? Complain to Dumbledore? Harry knew, though, that if he didn't run or get out of it with a second-rate witch like Umbridge he wasn't going to be able to do it with a competent, determined and intimidating one like Snape.

Snape saw the boy sizing him up, and he was ready if the boy tried to run or get away. He really did hope that the boy would have the sense to just comply and submit to the punishment, it was always harder when they didn't. He knew that he would punish the boy one way or another, so he hoped the lad chose the easier way.

"Nobody's ever done this to me before," Harry told him, his voice sounding very young.

"It would have done you good if someone had," Snape told him, seeing him accept the consequence. "Just remove your robe and then bend over that desk and I'll take it from there."

Harry gulped as he looked at the desk Snape indicated. It was an old desk, scarred with the passing of years, and littered with the debris of potion-making. Deciding that compliance would probably be the best at this point, he walked over to the desk and cleared away the debris. His hands shaking slightly, he unhooked the clasp on his robes. Snape waited as he removed his robes, folded them and placed them on the chair. Snape placed himself calmly beside Harry, waiting for him to comply.

"Now over you go," Snape told him, indicating the desk.

Feeling nearly numb with anxiety, Harry obeyed. He found himself bent over the desk, his cheek touching the smooth wood, shivering in anticipation. He supposed it would hurt, and hurt quite a bit. Would it hurt as much as the black quill? How about when Uncle Vernon smacked him in anger?

The paddle fell, stinging and hard. Harry yelped in surprise, his knees jerking against the desk as the full impact of the paddle was felt.

"That hurt!" he protested.

"It's supposed to," Snape told him coldly. "Now hold still."

Harry did try his best to hold still over that desk, but his knees jerked and hit the desk and his hips jerked involuntarily sideways as the paddle continued to fall. Harry cried out several more times, and by the time the sixth blow fell his tears were dripping down his face and onto the desk. He laid there, prone, trying to catch his breath again.

"Is it, is it done sir?" he asked, his voice hitching.

"That depends entirely upon you, Mr. Potter," Snape answered him in his calm, steely voice. "If you answer me respectfully and truthfully, you are done with the paddle for tonight. If you choose to lie or not answer, then you will receive another dose. Please stay in that position until I determine which you have chosen."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.

"What were you trying to steal from my potion stores?"

"Pickled Murtlap," Harry answered truthfully.

"Why did you desire that particular ingredient?"

Harry responded with silence, grimacing. He did not want another swat from that dreaded paddle on his already throbbing backside, but he also didn't want to admit what it was for to Snape.

"I see," Snape nodded quietly. "Was it for yourself or someone else?"

"Myself," Harry answered.

"Where are you injured?" Snape asked him.

"Well, my backside has felt better," Harry answered cheekily.

"You are entirely too cheeky for a boy in your position," Snape told him sternly. "Now answer me this minute or I'm taking you to Madame Pomfrey and she will perform a full physical."

Harry, realizing that he had no option, sighed and looked away. "My hand is sore, sir."

"I am not playing twenty questions, Mr. Potter," Snape snapped at him. "Tell me the entire truth now or off to the infirmary you go."

"It's professor Umbridge, sir," Harry admitted, new tears forming in his eyes as he decided to give up. He knew that Snape was a member of the Order, hopefully he could actually be trusted even if they hated each other. "It was a punishment, sir. She made me write with a quill that hurt my hand."

"How did it hurt your hand?" he asked, his face cold and emotionless.

"It cut the words onto my hand," Harry told him. "It used my blood as ink."

"That is called a black quill, Mr. Potter," he told the boy calmly. "You may stand up and come here."

Harry pushed himself off the desk, wiping his eyes. What was Snape going to do now? Was this the point where he emulated Umbridge's punishment and brought out another black quill?

Harry followed Snape over to a cupboard, and Snape placed the paddle in it. Removing a few of the jars, he motioned Harry over to the table.

"Your hand, Mr. Potter?" he asked, holding his hand out.

Hesitating, Harry gingerly put his sore hand in Severus' own. He found Severus' hand surprisingly warm and dry.

"Murtlap essence is better for something like this than pickled murtlap," Snape told him, dabbing a liquid on that reminded Harry of the smell of rotten seaweed. Then, switching bottles, he applied a scant drop of a brownish liquid to the wounds. "Dittany is rare and expensive," Snape told him, drawing the liquid across the wound. "But it will prevent scarring."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied in astonishment, watching the reddened letters fade and the pain lessen.

"Why on earth did you choose to steal ingredients from my cupboard instead of telling Madame Pomfrey or Dumbledore about what that woman did to you?" he asked Harry, his black eyes boring holes into Harry's green, bespeckled ones.

Harry gulped and looked away. "How do you know I didn't?" Harry asked.

"You wouldn't risk getting in trouble stealing Murlap if you were going to tell Madame Pomfrey," he answered. "And I would have heard about it if you had told either of them."

"I know how hard it would be on Dumbledore," Harry tried to explain. "It could cost him his job. And then where would we be? So I thought it was best to keep it between Umbridge and me."

"Hmm," Snape commented noncommittally.

"Besides I can take it," Harry told him with a hard glint in his eye. "And Dumbledore's been . . . distracted. He might not mind."

"What did you lie about?" Snape asked, his face still impassive.

"Huh?"

"Literate as always," Snape drawled. "Why did she have you write that particular phrase, Mr. Potter?"

"'I must not tell lies?'"

"Unless there's another phrase she has also used," Snape looked intently at his face.

"She had me write it because I insisted that Voldemort was back," Harry told him. "And I may have insinuated that the lessons were not what we needed."

"I see," Snape nodded again. "Clearly you have never heard that discretion is the better part of valor."

"It's just too hard to listen to her!" Harry protested. "How she blathers on about the ministry and safety, and turns us into a generation of sitting ducks."

"I see," Snape repeated.

"Do you?" Harry asked, meeting Snape's eyes in desperation. "You keep saying that, but do you?"

"I do," Snape said, and for once thought he really did. This Potter was not at all the Potter he had hated for the last five years. He needed time to think.

"You will come to detention tomorrow evening," Snape told him. "Eight o'clock, and I expect you to be on time."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. "But I thought that . . . with the paddle . . . that was my punishment, sir."

"Clearly you need a bit more," Snape told him severely. "And in the meantime, I do not want you to resort to thievery. If something happens that you should need a potion or salve, you may come to me."

"Are you going to tell Dumbledore?" Harry asked carefully.

"I haven't decided yet," Snape told him honestly.

Harry accepted that, and one of his hands crept unconsciously to his backside. The stinging had subsided somewhat, but it still ached.

"Go to bed now, Mr. Potter."

"If I come to you, will I get in trouble?" Harry asked. "I don't want to, well, you know . . ."

"I will overlook being out after curfew if you come straight to my office," Snape told him. "But if I ever catch you stealing from me again . . ."

"I won't," Harry promised. "I won't. I promise."

"Good," Snape nodded again. "Now go to bed. I will have a house elf check on you, and if you are not under your covers in fifteen minutes I will tuck you in. And I will bring the paddle."

"I'm going!" Harry protested.

"See that you do," Snape told him firmly.

Snape watched the boy scurry away, fearful of the promised consequence. Snape leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and pressing them against his lips. This was going to take some thought.

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 _AN: Please let me know what you think. I feel like this could be a two chapter sort of story or maybe a longer one - I'm undecided._


	2. Chapter 2 - Writing the Contract

_AN: Let me first say how overwhelmed I am by all of the amazing comments and encouragement. Thank you so much! I also want to let you know that this is going to be a shortish story - under ten chapters, probably around five or six. Thank you so much for all of your feedback!_

Snape watched Potter intensely at breakfast, still trying to make sense of the interaction he had with the boy last night. He was certainly full of Gryffindor bravado, but there had also been a quiet calculation to protect Dumbledore that he found surprising. He would have thought the boy incapable of thinking of others, let alone trying to protect that man that Snape would say was arguably the most powerful wizard of the age. He found the encounter he had with the boy last night, at first just about a sense of justice and punishing the brat, quickly turned into something a lot more. Snape could hardly admit to feeling sympathy for the boy, but he sure felt something other than the disdain he normally felt.

"You know he's not going to wither away just because you're glaring at him," McGonagall told him crisply as she stirred milk into her tea. "I would think by the fifth year you would know that, Severus."

"Have you talked with Potter recently?" he asked the Gryffindor head of house. "He seems different this year."

"I know he's had a spot of trouble with that horrible Umbridge woman," McGonagall admitted, giving her pink-clad nemesis a sideways glare. "But he hasn't complained. Seems to be taking her verbal berating in stride."

"What if she's doing more than that?" Snape asked her.

"What do you suspect, Severus?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm not sure yet," Snape told her. "But I think perhaps she is not just a harmless idiot. She bears watching."

"That toad," McGonagall grimaced. "So what has our Mr. Potter done to earn your ire?"

"He has detention with me this evening," Snape told her. "If he wishes to disclose the reason to you, I see that as his business."

"That bad?" she smiled softly at him. "Thank you for not killing him, then."

"It was a near thing," Snape grimaced at her.

. . .

Harry Potter watched Snape carefully during potions. He had been very tempted to miss potions for the day, but decided he did not want to have to explain his absence in detention that evening. He wasn't sure how he felt about the man this morning as he sat on the hard chair with his only slightly sensitive backside. Last night it had hurt so much that he would have sworn he'd be black and blue in the morning, but this morning he felt only the merest of twinges indicating what had happened the night before. He hadn't told anybody what had happened, he had felt too embarrassed. But there also had been something else - and Harry couldn't quite figure out what it was. Something about how Snape had healed his hand and had set it up so he would take care of any future problems as well. Wasn't he the greasy bat of the dungeons who lived to make his life miserable? Wasn't he the bane of Gryffindor set on personally taking points for the slightest provocation?

Snape didn't make eye contact with him the entire class, nor did he sneer or take house points. Was it possible that Snape was feeling the same awkwardness? Or had Snape punished so many children that he was immune to the shame he was feeling?

Just as Harry was packing up to go, he saw a scrap of paper pop into existence on top of his book. It read:

Dear Murtlap Thief,

Do not forget your detention tonight at 8 pm in my office. You will be writing lines properly.

SS.

Harry blinked at the note, grinning slightly at the moniker Snape gave him but frowning slightly at the idea of lines. Did he mean lines like the other professors gave him? Or did he mean that they would be really bad? Two days ago he would have believed that they would be really bad, perhaps with a black quill. But now he wondered - after all, the man had healed him. If he approved of using the black quill, wouldn't he have just left him to suffer from it? Harry unconsciously touched the back of his hand, though his skin was pale and pain-free.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the paper.

"I have detention tonight with Snape," Harry answered, picking up his books and watching as Snape swept out of the room.

"What did ya do this time?" Ron asked sympathetically. "The greasy git."

"Well, do you know how you told me that Murtlap would help my hand, Hermione?" he asked, and she nodded with her eyes narrowing.

"You didn't!" she exclaimed. "Tell me you didn't try and steal it from him!"

"Okay, I won't tell you that," he answered, cheeky.

"Blimey, Harry," Ron breathed. "And all you got was a detention?"

"We'll see how the detention goes," Harry answered. He just couldn't bring himself to say more.

"There's more to the story," Hermione surmised. "Out with it."

"Somewhere quieter," Harry relented, glancing around at the others filing out of the room.

Nodding her agreement, Hermione picked up her books and the trio made their way out into the hallway. Ron spotted a secluded alcove and motioned them over.

"Spill it," Hermione told Harry. "What happened?"

"Well, you know about my detention with Umbridge . . ." he began, and the other two nodded. "Well, I was lying awake last night with my hand hurting, and so I decided to see if I could get some of that Murlap stuff for it."

"You should have gone to Madame Pomfrey!" Hermione hissed at him, trying to keep her scolding down.

"I told you I didn't want that," Harry told her firmly.

"Then you should have sent Dobby," Ron insisted.

"Well, I bloody well didn't think of it!" Harry protested.

"What happened?" Hermione asked in a lower tone, glancing at Ron to tell him to calm down. They would never get information out of Harry if they wound him up.

"Well, Snape caught me."

"Obviously," Hermione nodded. "What did he do to you last night?"

Harry glanced around to make sure they were private, and he felt his neck and ears flushing. What was the least embarrassing way to admit what had happened? He had been so well trained by the Dursleys not to say what happened at home, that it felt wrong to say what Snape had done to him.

"He, he . . ." Harry blushed and gulped. "He took a paddle to me."

"He what?" Ron gasped.

"He must have been very angry," Hermione nodded.

"Professors can't do that!" Ron protested.

"Actually, it isn't against the rules," Hermione informed them. "It just isn't done often, and usually it would be done by your head of house."

"How many strokes did you get?" Ron asked, his expression one of morbid fascination.

"Six of the best," Harry answered, squirming uncomfortably. This was not a conversation he ever envisioned having.

"At least it wasn't a cane," Hermione told him briskly. "Paddles are far more humane. Does it still hurt?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "I feel maybe a bit sensitive still, but it doesn't really hurt."

"Blimey, Harry," Ron shook his head. "Leave it to you to get spanked by ol' Snape."

"It's better than the black quill," Harry admitted. "And he was, you know, decent about it. I mean, afterwards when he made me tell him what I was stealing and why, he treated my hand."

"What did he use?" Hermione asked.

"Murtlap essence and then dittany," Harry answered.

"Dittany is very expensive," Hermione told them. "And very difficult to get. That was kind of him to use it on you."

"My hand is as good as new now," Harry told them, showing them the unmarked hand. "And he said I could go back should I need treatment again."

"But you are going to stop the stuff in Umbridge's class, right?" Hermione asked, her eyes sharp. "Harry, she's dangerous."

"She thinks she can break me," Harry said stubbornly. "She is mistaken."

"Harry, mate, you need to pick your battles," Ron said soberly. "Let's pick ones that don't get your hand sliced open in detention."

"People need to know he's back," Harry protested. "I am not going to agree with that toad. I don't care what she does to me."

"Perhaps you should be worrying about what Snape's going to do to you tonight," Ron smirked, trying to bring levity to the situation. "Do you think he's going to use the paddle again?"

"He said lines," Harry showed them the note. "But after Umbridge, I think I'm more afraid of lines."

. . .

Snape sighed when Potter arrived one minute late and out of breath to his detention. Really, did the boy have no decorum? Was it even worth pointing out?

"You're late," he snapped at the boy.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, watching Snape with caution. "Peeves held me up."

"You should always give yourself enough time that you will be on time even if accosted by a poltergeist," Snape told him in a lecturing tone. "Now sit down."

Still watching his potions master warily, Harry sat himself down and waited.

"I said you were doing lines, Potter," Snape spat. "Don't dawdle! Get out your quill and parchment."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed, a certain level of relief in his eyes.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You were afraid I would use the black quill on you," he stated, his voice deathly calm.

"Yes, sir," Harry admitted, hurrying to retrieve his quill and parchment.

"Let me be very clear, Potter," he said in that same silky, deadly voice. "The black quill is an illegal dark artifact, and not approved for use except for signing a few very specific types of contracts. It should never be used on children, let alone writing lines at a school! I would be suicidal to use something like that on Dumbledore's precious golden boy."

"She did," Harry protested, then blushed.

"Which brings me to what we need to discuss," Snape told him. "I have given it a great deal of thought, and I am of the opinion that the best course of action would be to inform Dumbledore of Professor Umbridge's abuse of you."

"No sir!" Harry protested, his voice desperate. "Please, no sir!"

Snape nodded. "I wanted to tell you what I think was the best course of action, not the one I'm forcing you to take. I will keep your secret for now, but there are conditions to my confidentiality. Hence the lines. You will be writing our contract."

"Contract?" he echoed, confused.

"Yes, agreement," Snape answered smoothly. "Condition one: You will come to me as soon as practical after any use of the black quill upon your person, or if you have information about it being used on someone else. You don't need to fear, I will heal any wounds she gives you. Write that down."

Harry nodded, and quickly wrote condition one.

"Two: If at such time I find it necessary, you will tell Dumbledore. If you refuse, I will."

Harry cut his eyes at Snape rebelliously, but he wrote down the condition.

"Three: You will endeavor to reduce the instances that Professor Umbridge can find an excuse to give you a detention."

Harry nodded as he wrote, that seemed reasonable.

"Four: You will meet with me once a week. I believe Tuesdays at 8 pm would work for me most weeks; we can reschedule if needed."

"Why?" Harry asked, holding his quill steady.

"Because obviously we need to get rid of an interfering busybody that thinks it's appropriate school discipline to cause harm upon a student's body."

"You caused harm upon my body!" Harry protested.

"That was entirely different and you know it," Snape told him. "You probably barely felt anything by morning. A few whacks with the paddle doesn't do a naughty student any real harm and often does them a great deal of good."

"It did hurt," Harry grimaced. "But I suppose it was better than the black quill."

Snape nodded, smirking as Harry wrote that condition. "Since I have promised secrecy, I am forced to use you as a confederate instead of my normal allies. In order to do that, we need to meet together. I suggest telling your friends that you have a once a week detention for the next several months."

"I don't lie to my friends," Harry protested. "At least not Ron and Hermione."

"Tell them if you must but nobody else," Snape conceded. "They seem able to keep a secret. That is the fifth condition: strict confidentiality."

Harry nodded, that made sense.

"Condition six: you will not act against Umbridge without my permission."

"Like you're going to give me permission to do something!" Harry protested.

"Let's just say that after yesterday, I believe there are things we both do not know about each other."

Harry eyed him suspiciously. But he couldn't fault Snape at all - since the man paddled him it seemed that they had developed some level of a rapport. There had been very little biting comments or sarcasm, and now Snape was offering to help him with Umbridge. And he was insisting that he know if Harry were hurt so he could heal him - as if Harry wouldn't want to do so!

"What's in it for you?" Harry asked, his tone calculating.

Snape was taken aback by such a Slytherin question. Again, he marvelled at how much he did not know about this boy. "Perhaps peace of mind," Snape drawled. "Perhaps I wish to keep you out of my potion ingredients."

Harry snorted, and nodded. "I agree to your terms," he told him.

Then we shall both sign the contract you have written out," Snape nodded. "And then I want you to tell me everything you know about Professor Umbridge."


	3. Chapter 3 - Attacking Arthur

Harry trotted to keep up with Snape as Snape drug him harshly down into the dungeons. The man had a grip of iron on his arm, and Harry felt himself stumble and be jerked every few steps.

"I'm sorry!" he protested as they made their way to the dungeon.

"Sorry for what?" Snape snapped angrily, jerking him.

"For attacking him," Harry answered, nearly sobbing.

"Silence!" Snape barked.

Harry, gulping and near tears, obeyed and let himself be dragged down to the dungeons.

"Now you will explain," Snape spat at him, nearly throwing him into the chair.

"You're going to p-punish me!" Harry insisted, nearly wailing.

"Did you do something that warrants punishment?" Snape asked sharply.

"I attacked Mr Weasley!" Harry cried out, tears wetting his cheeks. Normally he would not have been so honest with this man, but the last few weeks of meeting with him had given him that the confidence that the man would at least help him sort out what had happened. Snape had been very good at helping him sort out fact from his emotions regarding Umbridge, and also how to plan using his mind.

"You are distraught," Snape observed, trying to control his own heart rate by taking a deep breath. "Take three deep breaths and five minutes of silence before we talk."

Harry familiar with the technique that Snape had been beginning to teach him to control his emotions, obeyed. Closing his eyes, he took three deep breaths through his nose, exhaling each through his mouth. He found his muscles begin to relax, and his heartbeat begin to slow for the first time since he had woken up from that dream. The minutes slipped by slowly, and Harry began to focus on the sounds and scents in the room - a potion bubbling in the corner, the dry, herbal scent of the storage room, and the soapy smell of the clean-up area.

"Three more breaths," Snape directed calmly. "Then we'll talk."

Harry obeyed, taking the three deep breaths calmly and the opening his eyes to the suddenly bright room.

"Now tell me what happened," Snape told him.

"It was a dream," Harry told him. "I've had so many of them. I'm in a place with a long corridor, and I want something so much. But this time was different."

"How was it different?" Snape asked calmly.

"I attacked Mr. Weasley," Harry repeated. "I was the snake that attacked him. I didn't just see it happen, I did it."

"And then what happened?" Snape asked.

"I - I told Dumbledore," Harry told him. "And Dumbledore sent the portrait to go find him, and he called you to deal with me."

"So you thought you were going to be punished?" Snape asked.

Miserable, Harry nodded.

"You did nothing wrong," Snape told him firmly. "In fact, your quick action in telling Dumbledore probably saved Mr. Weasley's life."

"But I am the one that attacked him!" Harry protested.

"Did you want to?" Snape asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused.

"When you saw Mr. Weasley, did you want to hurt him?"

"Yes," Harry answered truthfully. "Part of me did, the part that was in control. But the other part of me was horrified by it and couldn't stop."

"How do you feel now?" Snape asked.

"Sick," Harry told him. "Guilty, scared."

"You were not in control," Snape told him. "You were, shall we say, along for the ride. There was nothing you could have done to prevent the attack."

"How was I along for the ride?" Harry asked, confused.

"You have some sort of link to the Dark Lord," Snape told him. "You seem to have hitched a ride on his familiar, and we do not yet know the nature of this link. The Dark Lord appears unaware of it for now, but if he should become aware of it your life and your sanity are at risk. Do you understand?"

"What would he do?"

"The Dark Lord is a master at torture," Snape explained. "He could give you visions and drive you to insanity. He could torment you with visions of loved ones being tortured, and he could wrest any last piece of sanity you have in your head. He could plunder your unguarded mind for any information you have and use it against you. For instance, if he found a weakness for children in your mind, he could make you believe that it was your fault that several children were tortured and killed. And he could make you doubt reality, until you were ready to kill yourself to end the guilt.

Harry paled. "What do we do to fix it?"

"There is no 'fixing it,' Potter," Snape replied sternly. "But there is the magic of Occlumency that could shield your mind from invasion. Dumbledore called me in order to begin your instruction."

"In the middle of the night?"

"He believes the danger imminent," Snape explained. "The sooner you are able to shield your mind from intrusion, even in the slightest, the safer we all are."

Harry nodded. "Right, what do we do?"

"Occlumency is about creating a barrier," Snape explained. "A barrier of nothingness. You may also leave around some parts of yourself that you don't mind another seeing, but hiding those that are the most important."

"How do I shield it?" Harry asked.

"I'll attempt to break into your mind and you attempt to block me," Snape told him. "Legilimens!"

Harry, surprised at the speed of the attack, suddenly felt Snape in his mind. He felt Snape begin to rifle through memories of Cho, and he felt himself defend them. He kept thinking, "That's private!" but Snape did no more than smirk at him.

"Then defend yourself!" Snape told him harshly.

Harry tried, picturing himself pushing Snape away from those memories.

"What's this here?" he felt Snape begin to poke at some memories of potions class. "Did you really hate me this much, Potter?"

"Yes!" Harry answered, trying to push him away. He had thought Snape would be angry at his hatred, but instead he sounded amused.

"What's this?" he asked, perplexed.

Harry realized he saw a picture of his cupboard, and he finally found the indignation to push him out of his mind. "Out!" he yelled, and Snape finally found himself pushed out.

Harry found himself kneeling on the ground, his head ringing at the effort. Harry slowly pushed himself up, dizzy, and sat down on the chair again.

"It will pass," Snape told him. "Take deep breaths."

"How do I defend myself?" Harry asked him after his deep breaths.

"You started to figure it out at the end," Snape told him. "You need to clear your mind, concentrate, and block access."

"I didn't want you there for any of those memories," Harry told him carefully. "But really not for the last one."

"Which is why you finally were able to throw me out," Snape told him. "But I was giving a medium push, the Dark Lord will use more."

"I don't know if I can do this," Harry told him, near tears.

"You can," Snape told him. "You will need to practice, however. You need to discipline your emotions and clear your mind. Since this link seems mostly active at night, when your mind is at its most vulnerable, I will give you exercises to do before you sleep to help with this."

"Thank you."

"But I want you to know that I did see your aunt and uncle," Snape told him carefully. "We don't have to talk about it, but I wanted you to know that I did see."

Tears sprang to Harry's eyes, and he looked away in shame. "It was my fault," Harry tried to explain. "They didn't really want me, and they weren't happy about me being magical."

"And in what way does that make it your fault?"

"I was a b-burden," Harry tried to explain, wiping away his tears.

"From what I saw you were a house elf, not a burden," Snape told him firmly. "And they did not even provide you the basic necessities of a room, decent clothes, and adequate food. Harry, this is called abuse."

"Abuse is those kids that end up in the hospital," Harry objected, sniffing. It was not lost on him that Snape called him his first name. "It was never like that."

"I saw it," Snape told him firmly. "Just because they were smart enough not to go to the point of you having to go to the hospital doesn't mean it wasn't abuse, it just means they were very good at what they did."

"And what was that?"

"They systematically tried to rob you of your personhood," Snape said, looking down. "They taught you that you weren't valuable, that you weren't loved, and that there was something wrong with you."

"You couldn't have seen that much!" Harry protested.

"I saw enough," Snape answered. "Perhaps you could talk . . ."

"If you say I should talk to Dumbledore about it I'm going to scream," Harry told him, his voice with an edge.

"Would it be so terrible?" Snape asked. "He would be far better equipped to help you deal with the . . . emotional ramifications. I am particularly . . . ill-suited for such help."

"He's the one that put me there," Harry answered. "And he's made me go back even though I've told him."

"You told him that they hit you?"

"No," Harry admitted, reddening. "But I told them that they didn't love me and that I hated it there. But he said that it was very important that I go back there, and so I have."

"I see," Snape nodded. "Then this is another secret I must keep, and under the same agreement."

"You'll tell?"

"Only if I find it necessary," Snape told him. "In the course of these lessons, I will likely see many things in your mind that you're not going to be happy about me seeing. I will keep what I see confidential unless I find it necessary to share something."

Harry snorted. "What if you find it necessary to ridicule me?"

Snape kept a straight face, though his lips twitched slightly. "I think that's rarely an actual need, no matter how sorely tempted I might be,"

"I'm sure you'll find plenty of fodder, even if you only mock me in your head," Harry scoffed. "So you want me to practice this and we keep meeting once a week?"

"I believe we may up it to twice a week," Snape nodded. "And in addition, we will have an extra lesson any time you seek me out for medical treatment."

"That sounds almost like a detention for being punished by Umbridge," Harry questioned suspiciously.

"Then perhaps it would give you incentive to stop saying that which gets your hand sliced open," Snape told him sharply. "For once in your life stop thinking like a bloody Gryffindor!"

"But she just keeps saying that Voldemort is dead . . ."

"And why do you care what she thinks?" he snapped. "She could say that you are a blast-ended skrewt, and would that make it any more true?"

"No," Harry acknowledged. "But I just want everyone else to know that too . . ."

"Then you find another way other than grandstanding in Defense class," Snape told him coldly.

"Well, we might have a way to do that," Harry said reluctantly. "Hermione wants to form a defense club."

"A what?" Snape asked, taken aback.

"A club where we can practice defense," Harry told him. "You know, sort of like that dueling club we did in the second year. But it would be secret, and just taught by students."

"Taught by you," Snape corrected him.

Harry reddened. "That's what Hermione wants, but I'm not sure that I really am qualified . . ."

Snape didn't answer, he just arched his eyebrow sardonically.

"Well, I guess I have dueled with Voldemort . . ."

"The Dark Lord."

"Yes, I guess I have dueled with the Dark Lord a few times, and done the tri-wizard tournament and everything . . ."

"You forgot the basilisk," Snape reminded him.

"Oh, yes, and that too," Harry agreed. "But the thing that she doesn't understand is that I did it with mostly a bunch of help and a lot was by accident."

"Potter, you solved Dumbledore's maze in your first year," Snape told him. "You killed the Dark Lord's human vessel, fought a basilisk, figured out how to kill the Dark Lord's diary artifact, faced down a werewolf, freed a hippogriff, survived abusive guardians, cast a corporeal patronus to ward off hundreds of dementors, defeated adults in the tri-wizard tournament, battled a dragon, knocked your potions master across the room in when he was trying to protect you, fought mer-people, and battled the Dark Lord once again. And those are only the things that I know about."

"Well, when you say it like that . . ."

"You are imminently qualified to help your classmates have a defensive study club," Snape told him. "And in some ways it would be good for moral and to be fighting the ministry's propaganda. But you have to count the cost to yourself."

"I'll be fine," Harry told him, shrugging.

"I swear the only time you've listened to me was when I had a paddle in my hand!" Snape snapped at him. "You could be expelled or even imprisoned. How would you feel if your whole club was forced to use the black quill?"

"Awful," Harry paled.

"Then, with that in mind instead of your ridiculous Gryffindor bravado, the club could work," Snape nodded.

"We were thinking of calling it Dumbledore's Army," Harry told him, reddening a little.

"Of course you are," Snape sighed, rolling his eyes. "Let's make some plans so you don't get caught the first day."


	4. Chapter 4 - Getting Healed

Harry made his way through the darkened corridor, hoping that Filch wasn't going to catch him. He clutched his bloody hand next to him, trying to think with the throbbing. He knew that Snape wouldn't punish him if he were out of bed after curfew, but he was sure that Umbridge would. And the last thing he needed was more lines, even now his hand wasn't automatically mending as it had when he first started the lines. And it nearly the last day of class before Christmas too, the hag!

Harry shuffled along with the invisibility cloak, watching carefully. He made his way to the dungeons, and then surreptitiously (he hoped) pressed his hand to the door. Snape had charmed it so that it would open for him without knocking, to reduce his chance of getting caught.

"Again?" he heard Snape drawl from across the room. "I'm going to send that woman a bill for the dittany alone."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "But it was bad this time."

"You have agreed to tell me each and every application of that cursed quill whether or not it's 'bad'," Snape intoned. Then, softening, he said, "Let me see it."

Harry, shedding the cloak completely, silently held out his hand.

Snape let a small hiss escape his lips as he saw the marks on the boy. If it wasn't for dittany, Potter would be marked for life after that session.

"What did you say to her?" he asked in a business-like manner as he fetched the needed medicines.

"The usual," Harry shrugged. "Voldemort lives, Dumbledore's not an idiot, Fudge actually is an idiot."

"You need to be more careful," Snape told him severely. "If it wasn't for the severity of your corporal punishment already I would be tempted to apply some myself."

"But I thought corporal punishment was just, you know, getting whacked with a paddle or a cane."

"It's anything that causes pain to your body," Snape told him. "And that cursed quill definitely does that."

"I'd rather she used a paddle," Harry sighed, feeling the cooling salve begin to take the pain away.

"It's much better on the student, that's for sure," Snape told him. "This quill is a very wicked punishment."

"Would the cane be worse than the quill?" Harry asked curiously.

"No," Snape answered him. "At least how it's applied in schools. It wouldn't leave scars, and this would have without the dittany. And I'm not sure any teacher would be wicked enough to expect you to apply the cane to yourself."

"That is a hard part of the punishment," Harry agreed. "Having to do it to yourself. Sitting in that kitten-infested pink dungeon and having to cut yourself open."

"The Dark Lord would appreciate her . . . ingenuity," Snape told him. "Your cuts are still open, so the dittany is going to sting a bit. Brace yourself."

Harry braced himself as Snape trickled on the precious brown liquid, and he gritted his teeth against the sting. Slowly, the sting subsided and his hand began to feel much better.

"The regrown skin is a little tender," Snape told him. "Be gentle with it for a day or two, or you could break it open again."

"Thanks, sir," Harry told him, feeling the skin carefully with his other hand. "It feels so much better."

"Is there any lingering pain?"

"Maybe a little ache," Harry told him. "But it is so much better."

"Tell me if it hurts more than a little ache," Snape told him. "That implement is supposed to only cut your skin, but on a child's hand it could cut deeper."

"I'm not a child anymore," Harry protested.

"Nor yet an adult," Snape answered firmly. "With far too much responsibility. Which brings me to the next thing I wanted to give you." Snape went over to his cupboard and began rummaging around.

"You said you wouldn't!" Harry protested.

"I'm am not giving you a punishment," Snape snorted. "I already told you that I wouldn't. No, I would like to give you something to help you."

"That's what you said about punishing me," Harry glared suspiciously. "And what Madame Pomfrey said about taking nutritional supplements."

Snape paused a second, his face expressionless. After seeing some of the memories in the boy's head he surreptitiously recommended to Madame Pomfrey that the boy have a full physical, ostensibly as a new requirement for quidditch. While she did find some long-healed breaks, scars and other markers of abuse, the thing she could actually treat was his severe malnutrition. She had told Snape that likely he would never be as tall as he would have been otherwise due to inadequate nutrition in his formative years.

"If you do not wish to keep it, you do not have to," Snape told him, mildly irritated but understanding Harry's suspicion. Though some trust had been growing between the two, it would be a long time before they were not suspicious of each other. And Harry had not found adults to be trustworthy yet in his short life.

Snape handed the boy an object wrapped in brown paper.

"Is this a Christmas gift?" Harry asked, confused. Why would Snape be giving him a Christmas gift?

"Of course not, silly child," Snape told him, offended. "This is something to help you with your defense club."

Harry took the object, obviously a book, and unwrapped it from the paper. He found a large compendium of defensive spells and techniques.

"It was just delivered from Flourish and Blotts," Snape told him. "Since your current textbook is completely inadequate to your needs, I thought this might be useful."

"This is amazing!" Harry exclaimed, looking through the pages. It had helpful illustrations for wand movements and a pronunciation guide, as well as a history of each of the spells.

"Perhaps this might inform your study of defensive magic more than your current textbook?" Snape asked sarcastically.

Harry, beginning to understand Snape's humor a little, smiled at the man. "Thank you so much," he said, his smile broad. "This is the best Christmas present I'm going to get this year."

"It's not a Christmas present!" Snape insisted, though not with great authority. He wondered at himself a little - was it a Christmas gift? He surely could have told Harry to check it out from the library or even found a second-hand copy for much less money, but for some reason he felt compelled to buy him his own copy. "It is merely a tool for the next step in our plan against the toad."

"I did the surveillance you asked for," Harry told him. "I even wrote it all down so that I wouldn't forget anything."

"Excellent," Snape told him, accepting the notes. He poured over them, committing them to memory, and then placing them in his drawer.

"I don't understand what her daily habits have to do with getting her to stop hurting kids," Harry confessed, looking confused. "I mean, the whole time I followed her she just went around being mean. I could have told you that."

"Knowledge is power, Mr. Potter," Snape told him. "And knowledge of your enemy is the key to their undoing."

"But how is her zapping kids for untucked shirts or for kissing going to help us?"

Snape sighed, reminding himself that Harry was indeed a Gryffindor and not used to rational thought.

"Think, Mr. Potter," Snape told him firmly. "What did you learn from following her?"

"That she's a right nasty witch," Harry supplied.

"And?"

"She hates students?" Harry fished.

"Undoubtedly," Snape answered. "But so does Filch. How is she different from him?"

"She smells better," Harry smirked.

"Actually, that's a good answer," Snape surprised him. "Filch has bad personal hygiene, rotten teeth, wrinkled clothes, and his hair hasn't been cut for years. What does that say about him?"

"He's a pig?" Harry asked.

"And he cares very little about his appearance," Snape told him. "He has a lack of care to details, and is not looking to impress anybody. What can you gather from our target's appearance?"

"She's trying to impress people," Harry realized. "Her hair is always perfect, her nails painted, and her clothes are matched perfectly, even though they're ugly."

"How are they ugly?"

"Grown women shouldn't wear so much pink," Harry answered. "I mean, especially a professor. McGonagall wears nice robes, but they're old-fashioned. But she can move in them. Professor Sprout wears clothes that she can get dirty in."

"Can the toad get dirty?"

"No," Harry realized. "With her tweed clothes and heels she probably couldn't even really demonstrate defensive spells. She's not dressed for her work."

"Not the work you'd expect from a professor," Snape answered. "But she is dressed for work. What is her work?"

"Is she trying to impress the ministry?" Harry asked. "I mean, who else could it be? Dumbledore wouldn't be impressed by clothes she couldn't teach in."

"I think she always looks ready for a photo shoot," Snape told him carefully. "I believe she thinks she will soon be called upon to be interviewed, and she's ready. What image is she projecting?"

"That she's innocent and girlish," Harry answered. "With all the pink and the kittens. But then when you really get to know her . . ."

"You realize it's a smokescreen," Snape nodded. "Good. Now tell me about what you can infer by her actions."

"She is really into rules and order," Harry realized. "She dislikes messiness, and she dislikes feeling that she doesn't have power."

"There you go," Snape told him. "Knowing your enemy's weaknesses is important. What else?"

"I told you all that I know."

"You know more, you just don't know it," Snape told him. "Whom was she attacking most in class?"

"Kids she doesn't like."

"Who doesn't she like?"

"I don't know, mostly me," Harry grumbled. "But also Hermione, Seamus . . ."

"Half-bloods and muggle-borns," Snape confirmed. "Although some purebloods like the Weasleys earn her ire, she mostly attacks those she deems less worthy."

"I didn't realize that."

"Because you don't stop to think," Snape said sharply. "But, now that you have, you can develop strategies to attack her."

"How do I do that?"

"Know your enemies," Snape told him. "Also know your allies. Who are your allies?"

"Dumbledore can't seem to help and McGonagall has to work with her," Harry said. "Probably students are my best allies. Besides you, I mean."

"Of course," he replied drily.

"Ron and Hermione, of course, and the twins are helpful too. Neville and Seamus, to a point."

"You have plenty of allies with plenty of . . . talents," Snape nodded. "So you know how to drive her crazy. Now how do you get her fired?"

"I can get her fired?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Of course you can," Snape told him. "Isn't that what we've wanted all along?"

"But I thought maybe you would be . . ."

"I'm thinking of this as a learning exercise," Snape told him. "You need to know how to strategize if you're going to be effective against the Dark Lord."

"How could I get her fired?" Harry asked plaintively. "The minister loves her."

"The minister loves being in office," Snape corrected. "So he needs to see it as impolitic to support her. Who does the minister fear?"

"Voters?"

"Yes, and the voters with the most power are purebloods," Snape nodded. "The toad specifically targets half-bloods and muggle-borns, she panders to those who have power. Look how she panders to the Slytherins."

Harry made a face. "I thought you would like that."

"I would prefer a teacher who actually taught my students, not placated them," Snape told him. "But I have little choice this year."

"So I need the purebloods to hate her too," Harry recognized. "And the purebloods who have power, which are not the Weasleys."

"Don't discount the Weasleys totally," Snape corrected. "They have friends."

"Thanks for the tip," Harry agreed.

"And more importantly, students need to tell their parents," Snape explained. "And that can be harder than you think it is."

"I think I'd rather blow her up or trash her office," Harry grumbled. "Politics and planning make my head hurt."

"Talk to your friends, and see what you come up with," Snape told him. "It is past time for you to be up tonight."

Nodding, Harry readied himself to leave by gathering his things and his invisibility cloak.

"Potter, you know that I cannot be publicly involved," Snape said softly. "It would compromise my position as spy."

"I know," Harry nodded.

"And if anyone ever asks about your hand being healed, you will have to say you stole the murtlap," Snape continued.

"That's fine," Harry nodded.

"There's going to come a time that you telling what she did to you will bring about her downfall," Snape told him carefully. "I know you don't want to, but that is the only way I see this working. But you want to pick the right time."

"I will think about it," Harry promised. "Maybe if it felt powerful it would be better. I just don't want to go running to Dumbledore like a five year old."

That phrase ended the conversation, both of them reflecting that Harry had had nobody to complain to when he was actually five years old.

Harry made his way to the door, and then at the door, he turned back.

"Thanks for the book and my hand," Harry thanked Snape softly. "You've been really great, Professor."

"You're welcome, Mr. Potter," Snape acknowledged, and then watched the boy leave the room.

Snape had to wonder a little at himself. Surely he could write a few well-placed letters to get the purebloods outraged, though his plan was to remain uninvolved. Why was he coaching James Potter's spawn through how to make plans? Deciding to shut down that train of thought, Snape turned in for the night.


	5. Chapter 5 - Chatting with Minerva

On Christmas eve, Snape sat in front of the small fire in his quarters sipping on some nice Scotch. They had had the festivities in the main hall, and now he was just enjoying his night. He had never liked Christmas as a child, it was too fraught with family fights and disappointment. He quickly tired of other kids talking about their presents and making cookies when his biggest Christmas wish was that his dad would pass out drunk before he could catch Severus and beat him. But after he came to Hogwarts as a student Christmas grew on him, and he found himself enjoying the time at the castle with few other students, including those that made his life miserable. Christmas was . . . peaceful.

A knock sounded at his door, causing him to start in surprise. Who on earth would be calling at this hour?

"Merry Christmas, Severus," he heard the soft Highland lilt of the Head of Gryffindor greet him.

"Merry Christmas, Minerva," he replied reluctantly. He did not want to match wits with the ancient transfiguration professor, but he also knew that very little could deter the determined witch. It was best to invite her in and let it seem like he had some semblance of power. "Please come in."

"I have a present for you," she said, handing the man a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.

"What is this?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "We have never exchanged gifts before."

"I caught one Mr. Potter trying to get an owl to deliver this to you, and in the spirit of Christmas I decided to deliver it for him."

"How kind of you," Snape replied drily. This did not bode well, the woman knew.

"And I find myself wondering what you did to encourage such a present."

"Did he tell you it was for me?" Snape asked her airily. "Perhaps it was for Lupin."

"It says Severus Snape on the label," Minerva showed him. "And it's signed, 'The Murtlap Thief.' He tried his best to deny it, but I was not exactly born yesterday. I think you have a lot to explain, Severus."

Minerva seated herself before the fire and summoned a cup to help herself to some of his tea.

"The boy tried to steal some Murlap from my potions store over a month ago," Snape explained, deciding the truth was actually the best strategy with the prying Gryffindor. "I caught him and punished him, and since then we have developed a bit of a . . . rapport. I have given him some assistance this term, and I'm sure the present is just his boyish way of thanking me for that assistance."

"You really are the master at answering the question without answering it," she shook her head. "But I feel fit to remind you that you will not get rid of me until you tell me the truth. All of it."

"I did tell you the truth," he answered stubbornly.

"How did you punish him?" she asked. "I will drag it out of you if I must. By the way you said that I take it there was more than the late night detentions."

"I spanked him," Snape admitted. "Six with a paddle."

"Severus Snape!" she snapped. "He's a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin!"

"I know, I know," Snape calmed her. "It was rash. But I was just so tired of detentions having zero effect on the boy, so I decided to treat him as I would a Slytherin."

"We will discuss your presumption more later," she said, her eyes flashing. "But it sounded as if Harry took it well, I didn't hear any complaints and it seems to have mended some of the animosity between you two. But why ever was he stealing Murtlap?"

"In order to tell you that I need your oath, Minerva," Snape told her. "There is a situation arising that I need you to not act on. Potter and I are . . ."

"You are working together with him?!" she asked, incredulous. "What is going on, Severus?"

"You need to first promise to not go off," he told her firmly. "Or I won't tell you."

"I promise," she told him. "But I do not promise to never correct the situation."

"Fair enough," Snape nodded, then braced himself for his colleague's outrage. "Dolores Umbridge is using a black quill in some of her detentions, mainly on Harry but I believe on a few others."

"What?!" Minerva demanded. "What? How? Does Albus know?"

"So far I am the only faculty that knows," Snape answered. "But wait, there's more. Harry was most reluctant to talk to me about the quill, and I have reason to believe that he has suffered abuse and neglect from the muggles that raised him. He has been trained not to speak about abuse, and it has played right into her hand."

Minerva shot up from her chair in agitation and began pacing the room.

"How dare she!" Minerva ranted. "How dare she bring into our school such a medieval torture device and actually use it on children! On Harry!"

"He sought out stealing the murtlap in order to soothe the damage the quill had done and to avoid detection from Madame Pomfrey."

"How many times has she done it to him?" Minerva demanded.

"I believe four," Snape answered carefully.

"If that was done to a prisoner at Azkaban the ministry would be facing lawsuits!" Minerva ranted. "How can a ministry-appointed professor be doing that to children? At Hogwarts?"

"You didn't ask why," Snape told her. "Nor what she had him write."

"Well, what then?" Minerva asked, her eyes black with rage.

"She punishes him for speaking out against Ministry policies," he explained. "Particularly against the ministry belief that the Dark Lord is dead. She had him write, 'I must not tell lies.'"

"She is so evil!" Minerva ranted. "And what are you doing about it?"

"So far I have worked with Potter on strategy," Snape explained. "We have discussed her strengths and weaknesses. Potter is also organizing a defense club known as Dumbledore's Army to practice and learn defensive spells that their Defense professor is refusing to teach them. And I believe the current plan is to try and get her to use the quill on a pureblood to register outrage with the ministry."

"That is your plan?" McGonagall gaped. "Getting her to torture a student that the current ministry cares about?"

"What would your plan be?"

"How about the grownups confront the problem?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "How about we don't leave it up to a group of hormonal teenagers to make sure they are free from abuse at their school?"

"To what end?" Snape asked. "Really, Minerva, I must insist on a calming draught if you cannot even sit down."

"I'm sitting," she grumbled, accepting her tea from Severus.

"We both know that Dumbledore is getting the sack any day now," Severus told her. "And with how she's been inspecting us I believe several professors may follow. I believe Trelawney, Hagrid and Flitwick to be top on her list."

"Granted, Trelawney is incompetent and Hagrid is a bit . . . unconventional, but what possible problem could she have with Flitwick? He's a past dueling champion and very beloved of the students."

"He's not fully human," Snape answered her. "Neither is Hagrid. She hates anybody not fully human the most, quickly followed by muggle borns and half bloods. If we court her ire now without being able to fully oust her, you and I as half-bloods will be next."

"Some actions are worth their cost!" Minerva spat.

"Are they?" he asked softly. "I would have thought you would stay at Hogwarts at all costs to defend the students. I wonder who the Ministry would replace you with as transfiguration professor?"

Minerva paled and took a drink of her tea.

"You are an intelligent woman, Minerva," Snape said softly. "I think you are grasping the stakes."

"We surely can't leave him to do it all alone," she whispered.

"Of course not," Snape told her. "I am meeting with him twice a week to plan and to train, I am teaching him occlumency, and I am helping him teach his classmates defense. He is not doing this alone."

"What should I do to help?" she asked, her jaw set.

"We need to get the attention off of Harry as much as possible," Snape explained. "Other students have come under fire a little bit, and I think that will increase, especially when she becomes headmistress."

"That pink toad could never be headmistress!"

"Of course she will," Snape told her. "Probably at the insistence of pure-blood parents, and probably under the guise of educational reform. Don't you see that this is the Ministry's stratagem?"

"Now that you say it, I do," Minerva admitted.

"They need a place to practice, they need to be safe from her and her goons, and they need to recruit," Severus nodded to her. "Any way you can help in these endeavors is valuable."

"I will see what I can do," she nodded. "Filius will help too, as will Pomona. We can't let the students have all the fun."

"I doubt there will be much fun, Minerva," he intoned.

"I don't know," she cocked her head. "You seem to be enjoying being a mentor to a former enemy's son. I find that intriguing."

"It's simply expedient," Snape waved his hand for emphasis. "He's the one that's being targeted."

"Nonsense," she replied. "I believe you might actually be developing feelings not based on hatred for the boy."

"What use could a child like him have for an old dungeon bat like me?" Snape asked, and then clamped his mouth shut. Why would he voice such a thing?

"Seems to be quite a bit of use," Minerva replied, gesturing to the gift. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"It's probably some joke product from the Weasley twins," he told her. "My hair is probably about to turn purple."

"Perhaps," she replied. "Let's see, shall we? I can usually defeat their products if you can't."

Snape opened the box, and found a small box of very nice tea. He felt touched that the boy had noticed that he drank tea, and then went through all the bother of procuring him a box. And this wasn't something that was just laying around, either. It showed deliberate forethought and follow-through. And the note made him smile as well - "Merry Christmas! From the Murtlap Thief."

"Well, perhaps the tea is jinxed," Minerva suggested.

"Likely," Snape replied. "Shall I brew a pot and see?"

"By all means," she told him. "You will want to test it with a transfiguration master with you."

In a moment they had a fresh pot of hot water and measured out some of the tea into it. They sipped their new tea in companionable silence.

"Seems to be just nice tea," Minerva stated.

"Apparently," Snape replied. "I am at quite a loss to explain it."

"Well, then, let's just say the boy likes you," Minerva said.

"I'm not a likable person," he told her, sipping his tea. That statement usually made him feel proud, or maybe slightly rebellious, but now it just made him sad.

"That boy needs a father, Severus," Minerva told him baldly. "He hasn't had a proper father since he was a wee babe. His father died, his uncle abused him, Lupin had to abandon him and also scared him as a werewolf, and Albus is playing politics with him. The boy just needs someone he can depend upon."

"Shouldn't that be you?"

"A lad needs a father," she told him stubbornly.

"Are you actually commending the bat of the dungeons to _father_ your precious boy who lived?" he asked, his mouth actually gaping.

"I have always liked you," Minerva told him firmly. "I saw how you endured the bullying in school, and how you grew past your traumatic upbringing. True, you had that rough patch as a death eater, but I was overjoyed when Albus said you had agreed to spy for the Order. You sought forgiveness and absolution, and I found that admirable."

"Being a former death eater is hardly a recommendation," he drawled.

"But your character is," she insisted. "Think about it, Severus. At least guardianship if you can't stomach adoption. It's that or the boy goes back to Privet Drive."

Snape's face darkened. "You could adopt him," he growled.

"The ministry is not going to give me a child, Severus," she answered sadly. "Not with my . . . health problems."

Snape nodded, seeing the truth. "James Potter would roll over in his grave at the thought," he mused.

"At least work on having a relationship with the boy," she told him. "And don't worry about James. He would appreciate a powerful wizard shielding his son, he actually did grow up from that thirteen year old menace that he was."

"I see him tomorrow for occlumency," Snape told her. "I will thank him for the tea then."

"Good idea," she told him. "Do you ever do anything with your memories when you're teaching him, Severus?" she asked curiously.

"Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking how much you would not like him to see what your childhood was like," she told him.

"I have thought of using a pensieve for the more . . . sensitive memories," Snape told her. "Though he should not be able to break into my mind, there is always a chance."

"I'm sure what you're choosing is wise," she told him. "But I also wonder if the boy might benefit from knowing some truths about you."

"I don't see how such a thing could be remotely needed," Snape told her. "Better that I am anonymous. What child his age thinks that his professors have a story outside of what they know anyway?"

* * *

 _AN: for Maddierose: you can send me a PM, or you could also leave me a review with your story in it (break it up into a few if you need to) and I just won't approve it to post to my story so that it remains private._


	6. Chapter 6 - Peeking

_AN: This is the point in the story that I would like to remind people that this story is indeed AU. It's a thought exercise of what would happen if one thing changed at the beginning of this year, and what else it would affect. So while there will be several occurrences that happen in the original story, they will be different. Also, my thanks to_ _t42n24t2_ _for helping me decide who would be the patsy to get Umbridge._

* * *

It was much harder to get pureblood kids into trouble than Harry had thought it was. They decided not to go for the big targets like Draco Malfoy, but focus on some of the less influential but easier to get into trouble. The problem was that the pureblood kids never got the quill. Harry and his friends tried for a month, to no avail.

"It's impossible!" Harry complained one night as he arrived for his occlumency lesson.

"Then what have you learned?" Snape asked, nonplussed by his complaining.

"Well, she won't use it on purebloods," Harry told him. "She doesn't use it on Slytherins either."

"She was a Slytherin," Snape told him. "That makes sense."

"So we aren't going to get her to attack someone who's anybody is going to care about!" he yelled in frustration.

"Breathing," Snape ordered firmly. "Five minutes of breathing, and then we'll talk."

Harry, grumbling about bossy teachers, obeyed. He closed his eyes and took breaths, clearing his mind and feeling his lungs inflate and deflate. His brain relaxed, and he felt his muscles unclench. He listened to Snape scratch on parchment as he graded essays, and he found that a comforting sound.

"Are you ready to speak rationally now?" Snape drawled.

"Yes," Harry answered.

"You can have more time if you need it," Snape said with only a touch of sarcasm.

"I'm fine!" Harry insisted.

"So if you take out the obvious options, what does that leave you?" Snape asked.

"With someone less obvious," Harry thought. "What if it were someone somehow tied to a pure blooded family that had power? Like a friend or something?"

"It would have to be blood to matter to those people," Snape told him. "They don't care about friendship like they do about slights against someone of their blood."

"So we would have to find a half-blooded relative of a pure-blooded Slytherin that we could frame," Harry nodded. "That's not going to be easy."

"I'm sure Miss Granger is up to the research challenge."

"They are keen on getting rid of the toad," Harry told him. "But it still kind of confuses them that you're helping us. Ron is pretty suspicious."

"Hmm," Snape answered. "Does that mean you're suspicious and are using your friend to bring it up because you're worried about the implications of asking me directly?"

"No! I mean, well, maybe . . ."

"Just say what you mean, Potter."

"I mean, well, you've acted like you've hated me for years," Harry started, his legendary Gryffindor bravery taking over. "And then I get in trouble, and you s- well, you punish me, and then suddenly you're helpful? You're nice to me? You are helping me plot against someone who was once a Slytherin?"

"I can see your basis for incredulity," Snape nodded. "But I wonder why you bring it up now."

"Just something that Ron said," Harry looked down.

"I realize that for the past several years we haven't been on the best of terms," Snape admitted. "I think you realize that I, well, I had some conflict with your father when we were in school."

"But you were friends with my mum, right?"

"I was," Snape told him. "But that's all I want to say about that."

Harry nodded. "That's okay, I mean, I understand. And I've liked it, well, the training and stuff with you. But I've been fooled before."

"Who has fooled you?" Snape asked.

"Well, I didn't know that Quirrell was the bad guy," Harry told him. "And of course everyone thought Sirius was bad and he wasn't. But I guess last year with Mad-Eye, well, that was the worst."

Snape nodded. "Well, Potter, I see your dilemma. However, I think it would less of a dilemma if you applied some logic."

"Logic?"

"Yes, have I not taught you to think? If I were really a minion of the Dark Lord set on betraying your trust, how would I have acted?"

"Well, you probably would have been nicer."

"I don't believe my first course in beginning a mentoring relationship would have been to paddle you," Snape nodded. "I would have flattered and pandered to you."

"Unless you realized that it wouldn't work," Harry countered. "Aren't you some sort of master spy?"

Snape sighed, pushing away an unexpected pang that Harry didn't trust him. He felt like he should be proud that he was thinking and being suspicious, so he tried to deny feeling the smallest bit hurt. "There's nothing that I can do to convince you one way or the other. You are just going to have to decide to trust me, or not. But in the meantime you can at least learn what I have to teach you."

"That makes sense," Harry agreed.

"Now, I believe it's time to start your occlumency lesson," Snape stood up. "Enough with the plotting. If I help you too much you won't learn how to do it on your own."

Harry watched as Snape went to the large bowl-like thing and began pulling wispy blue light out of his head and placing it in the bowl. He had seen a pensieve with Dumbledore the year before, and he wondered at it.

"What is that?" Harry asked, curious.

"I believe it to be something you would be polite not to mention," Snape told him, a sharp tone in his voice. "Now, prepare yourself."

Harry quickly went through some of the exercises Snape had taught him to practice every night. But something kept bothering him - why would Snape be putting memories in a pensieve prior to lessons with him? Were there things he didn't want Harry to know? Perhaps that his helping Harry was all part of a larger plan to give him to Voldemort, as Ron had accused. But Harry also reflected on how much he was beginning to look forward to his time with Snape. He found the man refreshingly honest, and he would often tell him the things that nobody else would. Could Harry actually trust him?

"Legilimens!" Snape cast the spell, catching Harry off guard. He quickly shielded, though, and presented a blank mind for Snape to try and plunder.

"Good," Snape told him. "Even distracted you were able to shield me. Now we're going to work on laying false trails . . ."

A knock at the door interrupted him, and Snape went to answer the door. Harry heard some low discussion, but didn't want to look and see who it was because he didn't want to appear nosy.

"I need to leave for a minute," Snape told him. "Practice your exercises. When I come back I'm going to use a harder push than last time, and we will also work on laying false trails."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, nodding.

Almost as soon as Snape was out of the room, Harry locked eyes on the pensieve. He walked over to it, never breaking eye contact. Surely this pensieve held the answer to whether or not Snape was trustworthy, and he could finally know for sure. No more having to trust Dumbledore, no more second guessing. If he could just have a quick peek, then he would know for sure. Harry, knowing deeply that he was making a huge mistake but feeling unable not to, walked over to the pensieve. He put his face is the bowl, just as he did with Dumbledore the year before, and was soon transported into a memory.

Snape returned fairly soon to the room, having sorted out the problem with some of his Slytherins quickly. He walked into the room and looked in confusion as Harry was not sitting in his place where Snape had expected him. In panic, he looked to the pensieve and his heart sank to his stomach when he saw Harry standing there with his head in the pensieve.

He flew across the room, not sure if he was using his power of flight or not. He grabbed the boy's shoulder, yelling in range, and forcibly pulled him out of the pensieve, throwing him across the room.

Harry, in the middle of watching his father torture a much younger Severus Snape, felt himself being pulled from the pensieve and then being thrown across the room, crashing into a wall covered with jars. He heard a jar being launched above his head, scattering glass and dried cockroach pieces in a shower over him.

"How DARE you!" Snape yelled at him, his face turning red and his body shaking in rage. "How dare you!"

"I'm sorry!" Harry hurried to say, sheltering his face from the cockroaches. "I'm sorry!"

"Get out!" he told Harry in a deathly acid tone. "Get out and never come back."

"I'm sorry, Professor!" Harry told him desperately. "Please, I'm sorry!"

"Out!" Snape barked at him, wandlessly pushing him. "I never want to see you again."

"Please, Professor!" Harry begged. "Please, I didn't know! I'm so sorry!"

Harry felt himself being pushed from the room roughly, and soon was on the other side of a door shut tightly against him. He felt tears prickle his eyes, not only for Snape kicking him out of his office, but also for what he had seen in the pensieve. He had seen his father bullying Snape, and doing it in a completely horrible way. It had been four against one, and his father had humiliated Snape. And his mother, in trying to defend her friend, had made him even more humiliated. And then he called her that name - the same name as Draco had called Hermione - and had lost her friendship. Harry felt in such turmoil he didn't know what to do.

Harry put his palm against the door, but he didn't knock. He knew there was no point, he had lost any friendship with Snape that had been possible. He had betrayed him. Harry leaned against the heavy wood door, and slid his body down until he sat on the cold stone floor. Dispiritedly, he put his forehead against his knees and cried. Later he would never admit to it, but for right then at that moment he wasn't capable of anything else.

Snape stood on the other side of the door, his emotions frozen. He hadn't cried since he was a young child, and at that moment he almost wished he could. Anything other than the hard coldness he felt in his heart. He had only felt this way a few other times; when Lily died due to his own actions and when he realized Lily wasn't going to forgive him for using that foul word on her. What was he going to do?

Snape stood and stared at that door, knowing Harry was on the other side. He wished he could do something, maybe punish the boy and move on, but he couldn't. The pain of the betrayal was just too much. He realized that with the pain of the betrayal that he had actually begun to care for the boy. Someone he didn't care about couldn't cause him this much pain. But now, whatever could have been in relationship to the boy, it was over. He was speaking true when he said he never wanted to see the boy again. And he couldn't imagine anything that would change his mind.

Telling himself that he did not care how long the boy stayed outside his door, Snape slowly turned and made his way into his quarters.


	7. Chapter 7 - Moping

Harry woke the next morning, and for a moment forgot what had happened the night before. Then, as he fully awoke, he remembered. He felt as if his body could be crushed under the guilt he felt, and he felt his eyes prickle. He had messed everything up, and he didn't know if he would be able to fix it. He had managed to make his way back to his room after what felt like hours of crying outside of Snape's quarters, and he slept fitfully.

He sat there, fighting off tears, and wondered what he could do about it. _I will write an apology,_ he thought to himself, and quickly pulled out the parchment and quill. _Maybe he will have cooled off by this morning._

Harry quickly penned:

Professor Snape,

I am so sorry. So, so sorry. I have never felt so sorry in my whole life. I really screwed up, and now I feel that you are going to hate me forever. Please don't, please forgive me. You can punish me however you want, I don't care. Please, just talk to me again.

The Murtlap Thief

Harry looked at the note, hoping that he sounded sorry enough, and then gave it to Hedwig to deliver. Feeling somewhat cheered that there might be some hope in restoring the relationship, he began to get dressed. Maybe he could even catch Snape at breakfast and apologize in person.

Then, as he was about to leave the room, Hedwig arrived with a parchment in her beak. It read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

I am not a forgiving person. Please discontinue all contact with me beyond what is needed for potions class; any further contact will be ignored by me. I have no interest in punishing you, as that would imply I wanted further relationship with you. I do not.

Professor Snape

Harry couldn't hardly read the note through his tears, and he threw himself on his bed and covered his head with his pillow.

"What's going on, mate?" he heard Ron ask him as he returned from his shower.

Harry thrust the note at him, and he heard Ron whistle slowly.

"What did you do?" he asked softly, seeing how upset Harry was.

"I snooped on his private memories in a pensieve," Harry told him. "What am I going to do, Ron?"

"Give him a little while to calm down," Ron advised. "Then try again. My mum is always more reasonable after a time to calm down."

"What if he doesn't?" Harry asked desperately.

"It's just Snape," Ron shrugged. "What does it really matter?"

"It matters," Harry answered. "I'm not sure why it matters so much, but it matters."

"If he does take you back you're in for a rare walloping," Ron told him carefully. "Are you sure that's worth it? Maybe it would be better just to stay away."

"It's worth it," Harry shrugged. "I don't really care."

"Your funeral, mate," Ron shrugged. "You should really come down to breakfast, though. Keeping up your strength and all that."

"I can't eat," Harry answered. "I'll catch up in class."

"Alright," Ron nodded. "I'll sneak you out an apple or something."

. . .

"You've hardly touched your breakfast," Minerva observed. "Are you feeling well, Severus?"

"I'm not hungry," he replied to her carefully.

"Seems Mr. Potter isn't either," Minerva observed. "Ron's here but he's not. That's most unusual, perhaps I should check on him."

"Perhaps," Snape replied, sipping some tea. Then he grimaced, reminded of Harry's Christmas present.

Snape felt the dilemma of really wanting to forgive the boy. The forgiving voice in his head said that they had just had a conversation about how Harry wanted to trust him but was confused, could he really blame him for wanting to find out for sure? Sure, it was a gross violation, but an understandable one. Perhaps, like Minerva said, it would even do Harry some good to understand his history with his dad. Perhaps he could just give the boy a good whack or two with the paddle and have the matter done with.

But the harder part of Snape, the part that felt younger and more raw, couldn't move past the feeling of betrayal. He knew that the note he had sent the boy was harsh, and he knew how distraught the boy was feeling. But he just couldn't move past the betrayal, the sense of hurt the boy had caused.

"You had your time with him last night, was he fine then?" she asked, her eyes glinting a bit to show that she understood more than she let on.

"Our time ended . . . abruptly," Snape told her. "He seemed fine."

"What did the lad do?" she asked with a sigh.

"Nothing I wish to discuss," he replied, pushing himself away from the table and standing. "Good day, Professor."

. . .

Harry managed to make it to his first class, but he knew he must look terrible by the way that Hermione kept staring at him with a look of concern on her face, but Harry couldn't muster the ability to care at all.

After class, she cornered him. "What is going on?" she demanded.

"I pissed Snape off," Harry replied. "He's not going to forgive me."

"What did you?" she asked incredulously.

"He was using a pensieve to protect some of his memories during our lesson," Harry confessed, tears prickling his eyes. "He left the room for a minute, and I, well, I peeked."

"You deliberately peeked?" Hermione asked, aghast. "Why?"

"Well, I was just thinking about what Ron said," Harry admitted. "I was thinking about whether or not Snape was truly trustworthy. And I don't know, temptation got the better of me I guess. I feel wretched."

"He wrote an apology and Snape wrote back," Ron informed her. "He told Harry he wanted nothing more to do with him."

"He's apparently 'not a forgiving person,'" Harry quoted. "I don't know what to do."

"I said to give him a few days to cool off," Ron said.

"That's actually good advice," Hermione told him. "Try apologizing again in a few days. He's an adult, Harry, surely he has to forgive you at some point."

"He's Severus Snape," Ron replied. "He still hates Harry's dad and he died years ago. The man can hold a grudge."

"You're not helping!" Hermione snapped at him.

"Maybe if I follow the plan well without him he'll be impressed," Harry reasoned. "Last night before . . . well, before I was such an idiot, Snape said that I needed to find a half-blood that was not in Slytherin with ties to a powerful Slytherin pure-blooded family. Anyone come to mind?"

"Not right away," Hermione admitted. "But there's got to be someone. I'll start working on it. Perhaps we can ask the DA, we have a meeting tonight."

"Hermione, I don't know if I feel like it . . ." Harry started.

"Nonsense," she told him. "You need to keep it up. Like you said, maybe it will impress him. At least it will keep your mind off of it."

"Okay," Harry nodded numbly. He didn't have the strength of will to argue.

"Remember, tonight we're doing the defensive wards from the book," Hermione reminded him. "I think our first order of business is to make sure there are good wards on the Room of Requirement."

. . .

Over the next week, Harry didn't feel any better. He felt like he was going through the motions of going to class and trying to force himself to eat, but he remained completely miserable. He tried twice more to send apology notes, and both times he received no reply from the Potions master. But the worst of all was in potions class itself. In years previous Snape had often picked on Harry and ridiculed him, but now he pretended that the child was completely invisible. Harry sat like a dejected lump for most of the class. Being ignored was infinitely worse than being the target.

By the third week after The Incident, Harry spent the time trying to catch his eye, and Snape patently ignored him. He even wrote an apology at the end of his potions essay, which was likewise ignored. Harry even contemplated creating some sort of mischief in class that would force Snape to deal with him, but he was afraid the man would banish him from Potions class altogether. At least this way he got to see him. Minerva watched the boy wilt inside in response to Snape's coldness, but felt at a loss for how to help him when neither of them would talk to her about it. Dumbledore was replaced by Umbridge, and she became Headmistress without Harry hardly acknowledging it. And Snape didn't gloat that his prediction came true.

"Maybe if we succeed in getting the toad out then Snape will forgive you," Ron suggested at dinner one night. "Like, we're making it up to him."

"It's worth a try," Harry answered, nudging his mashed potatoes with his fork but not really eating any of them. He sighed. "I'm beginning to wonder if it's a lost cause."

"It's not a lost cause," Hermione told him briskly. "We just have to do what we can. I'm sure this is hard on Professor Snape as well."

"He could just forgive me," Harry grumbled.

"Do you understand what a violation this was?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I know he was embarrassed . . ."

"You snooped and saw him at his most vulnerable," Hermione explained. "His most humiliated. And you weren't just told about it - you saw it. How would you feel if Snape went snooping and found your most horrifying memories?"

"Well, he sort of has . . ."

"But that was to teach you," Hermione answered firmly. "And you knew he was going to do it, and he didn't rifle through maliciously. Can't you see how what you did was different?"

"I guess," Harry answered. "But I just did it to see if I could trust him!"

"And don't you think he knows that?" Hermione answered. "After all he's tried to do for you . . ."

"After four years of being a git!" Ron protested.

"Yes, but he is trying."

"Or was," Harry told her. "Until I screwed it up."

"Focus on your purpose!" Hermione snapped. "Moping is getting you nowhere."

"You're right," Harry nodded. "I will try to focus."

"I have good news," Hermione announced. "We have found our Patsy."

"There's no girl named Patsy that I know of," Ron answered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's a term for the person that will take the fall," Hermione explained. "She's a friend of Cho's and she's in Ravenclaw. Her name is Mandy Brocklehurst. She's first cousin to Gregory Goyle."

"Then she can't be in Ravenclaw if she's related to him," Ron snorted. "Or maybe the muggle involved is super smart."

"Will she do it willingly or will we need to frame her?" Harry asked.

"I was going to sound her out a bit and see," Hermione answered.

"Goyle hates us," Ron added. "Especially since Crabb and Malfoy's dads got arrested. If he thinks we have anything to do with it he won't help."

"Then we have to be sneaky," Hermione agreed. "And we have to be sure he will try and defend his half-blooded cousin."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow night at the DA meeting."

Hermione looked at Harry with an uneasy expression. "It's getting harder, Harry. Should we continue the DA? I mean, what if something bad happens?"

"We will reiterate to people tonight that it is a choice," Harry told her. "People can back out if they want to."

. . .

Harry hadn't meant to forget his Occlumency exercises. He had found it harder and harder to do them before bed because he could hear Snape's voice giving him instruction as he did them, and that made his heart ache and his stomach wrench in guilt. When Lupin had had to leave at least it hadn't been Harry's fault, and he hadn't had to look at the man every time he had a potions class. And Harry wasn't exactly sure when he had begun to see Snape as a mentor like how he'd seen Lupin, but it had truly happened. And now it was over.

But in the night that night, in his unguarded mind, Harry was suddenly sucked into a nightmarish vision. He saw the same place he had seen before, the place where Arthur had gotten attacked. Then, suddenly, he saw Sirius Black screaming and writhing in pain, most likely under the cruciatus. He called out wordlessly, desperately, and Harry felt frozen in place and unable to help. And then the dream ended, causing Harry to bolt upright in his bed in fear. He had to save his Godfather.


	8. Chapter 8 - Saving Sirius

"What're ya doing?" Ron asked sleepily as Harry got dressed. "What time is it?"

"He has Sirius," Harry explained, pulling on his pants. "I have to go save him!"

"Are you sure?" he asked, sitting up and blinking. "I mean, didn't Dumbledore say that Voldy would be trying to put stuff in your head?"

"It was real," Harry insisted, his face set. "How do I get to the ministry?"

"Are you barking?" Ron asked, incredulous. "Even if he does have them, what could you do against him? And his band of merry men?"

"I can't just let them crucio him to death!" Harry protested.

"Coming with," Ron mumbled, hauling himself out of bed.

"No," Harry told him. "No. I'm going to take the floo in the Pink Toad's office, it's connected directly to the ministry. You go and tell Snape what I saw, and he'll send the Order. Then all I'll have to do is to keep them busy enough to not kill him until the Order gets there."

"This is a terrible plan," Ron objected. "How do you know that it's even real?"

"I have to save him, Ron," Harry told him forcefully. "You either get Snape or not, and if not then there's no Order to help me."

"I can't stop you," Ron complained. "I will get Snape, but I think you're a complete idiot."

Harry, partially agreeing with Ron but feeling desperate, headed to Umbridge's office. A small part of him knew that he was panicking, and that his brain wasn't working properly. The small part of his brain that Snape occupied warned him to slow down, to do his breathing, and to force his mind to think. But his body was jerking and jumping with motion, and all he could think about was that picture in his mind of Sirius screaming in pain.

Harry first knocked on the door to Umbridge's office, praying that she wasn't there. As the seconds dragged on without an answer, he pulled out his wand. Was she stupid enough not to ward her door against an alohomora?

"Alohomora!" he commanded in a whisper, and the knob shook and turned.

"Mr. Potter," he heard the crisp, girly voice of Professor Umbridge bark behind him. "Just what is the meaning of this?"

Harry blinked, having the feeling of disconnection from reality descend over him as he turned to see the pink toad, her wand drawn and her face stony. He noted that she had her hair up in ties and wore a dressing robe, and he reflected that that should have made her seem more homey and kind. Instead, it made her seem even that much more annoyed.

"Hello, professor," Harry greeted her, trying to think of an excuse that would put him out of bed. "I was looking for you."

"Why were you doing that?" she asked sharply.

"I have a problem and need to contact Dumbledore," he told her, suddenly remembering the fact that Dumbledore was gone.

"Well that cannot happen," she told him sharply. "He is hiding from the ministry, he's a criminal who is eluding arrest. Why do you want him?"

"It's a . . . private matter," Harry told her. "It's personal."

"I think you know me well enough to know that I do not fool around," she growled in her girlish voice. "Tell me now why you are here and what you want or I will have to take drastic measures."

"I'm sorry, professor," Harry told her, trying to sound calm. "But I cannot tell you."

"I will give you lines," she threatened.

"If you must," Harry acknowledged. "Would you like me to come to your office tomorrow evening?"

"Come in now!" she barked.

Well, at least that puts me in her office, Harry thought. Now to get in the floo.

The small pink woman then bustled over to the floo, throwing some powder on it with anger. "Severus Snape!" she barked.

"Yes, madame?" came his calm reply.

"I need you to come and bring some veritaserum," she told him.

"Of course," he answered. "I will be there momentarily."

Harry gulped, not really wanting to be in this position with Snape. But, he reflected, what if this meant that Snape would actually talk to him? Would Snape protect him or actually give him veritaserum?

Harry did not have long to wait, Snape entered the room what felt like just a minute or two after he had been called.

"Good evening," Snape told Professor Umbridge. "Though the hour is rather . . . late."

"Indeed," the toad answered. "I found Mr. Potter trying to get into my office at this hour! He refuses to tell me what he's doing."

"So you are hoping to use veritaserum on him?" Snape asked her.

"Yes," she nodded. "Please administer it."

"While I have the utmost sympathy for your desire to dose him," Snape told her. "Regretfully, I must inform you that the use of veritaserum on underage wizards is strictly forbidden by the ministry because it interferes with magical development."

"But that boy lies so much I could never get the truth out of him!"

"Indeed," Snape agreed. "My skill for potions will not be useful to you this evening unless you are seeking to poison the child - and believe me I certainly would be tempted if I were in your shoes. But there is another option."

"What is that?"

"I am a master legilimens," Snape told her. "Dumbledore forbade me from ever using it on a student, but there is no ministry regulations against it. I could find out answers for you."

"Do that then!" she exclaimed happily. "Excellent! Thank you Severus!"

Snape inclined his head towards her in acknowledgement, and then withdrew his wand from his sleeve. Harry watched his smooth motions, once so familiar to him but now seemed almost like a dream. And then Harry locked eyes with the man - not knowing what to expect, but hopeful. What he saw in those eyes was the pain of betrayal, but also no malice. Snape wasn't seeking revenge on him, he was going to try and help. Harry found himself relaxing enormously, and decided at that moment that he was going to choose to trust Snape. Even though the man seemed like he could so easily be dark and be ready to hand-deliver Harry to the dark Lord, he was going to choose to trust. After all, if Snape really was evil, shouldn't he have forgiven Harry by now so he could further manipulate him? The only thing that made sense was that he was being honest with Harry, and that Harry had hurt him enormously.

"Legilimens!" Snape commanded with authority, but Harry knew that the man was only doing a gentle push. He wanted Harry to be able to resist and shield if he wanted to.

Instead of wishing to resist, Harry welcomed Snape's intrusion by opening his mind. He quickly offered up the memory of the dream to Snape, adding how much he was currently panicking about it.

Though he couldn't hear Snape's words directly, he felt Snape poking at the memory a bit. Then, like yarn untangling from a sweater, the picture began to fall apart until Harry could himself see that the picture was a false one. Did that mean that it wasn't real? That his Godfather was safe? Harry shivered thinking what could have happened if he'd gone to the ministry with Voldemort waiting for him based on a trap.

Harry was unsure exactly how Snape did it, but suddenly he had a very clear picture in his mind, and realized that it was the picture of a school disciplinary cane. _If you leave Hogwarts tonight you get the cane,_ he heard clearly in his mind. _I will handle this._

Harry nodded, barely perceptively, and then changed the picture that he projected to Snape. He found the memory of Snape spanking him, and then showed the picture of the one after that where Snape had offered to mentor him. He wasn't sure if his meaning was clear or not, but he was trying to say that he would take the cane if that's what it took to restore their relationship.

"What was he asking for?" Snape asked sharply.

"He was asking for Dumbledore," Umbridge told him. "I think it might be something to do with that illegal organization the Gryffindors are forming."

"Possibly," Snape answered. "Let me try again. Potter seems to have some good defenses."

"Of course, the little fiend," she agreed.

Harry felt the soft brush against his mind again, and this time Harry willingly showed him pictures of Dumbledore's army practicing and training, and even Hermione identifying the preferred Patsy. He trusted Snape with this information, and he wanted to make sure the man knew it.

"They're trying to form some silly sort of club," he told Umbridge. "It's mostly silly handshakes and similar. If you saw how inane their meetings are, you wouldn't worry about it at all."

Harry jolted in outrage when Snape admitted the club existed, his stomach dropping at the mistake he had made in trusting Snape. But then, when he heard the words the man said, he realized his brilliance. If Umbridge knew the club existed, denying it would only make her suspicious. Better to admit it and then make it seem harmless. Harry admired how the man's mind worked.

"Then why did he want to contact Dumbledore?" she trilled.

Snape cast the spell one more time, concentrating on a reason that Harry could want to contact Dumbledore. Blushing, Harry showed him the memory of him kissing Cho under the mistletoe in the room of requirement.

"Really Potter?" Snape exploded. "All this fuss over a girl? You wanted to talk to Dumbledore about how to ask Miss Chang to go steady?! Of all the hopeless, inane wastes of time! Well you will pay! Detention in my office tomorrow night. And yes, it will involve the paddle."

"Please, sir!" Harry begged, realizing how much of this was for show for Umbridge. "Please, sir. Please, let Professor Umbridge punish me. It was her office I was trying to get into."

"No, no, Professor Snape can punish you this time," she told him. "If you fear his paddle more than my quill, then I will defer to him."

"Then it is past time for this miscreant to be in bed," Snape growled. "And if he leaves it again this night it will be the cane."

"I promise to go straight to bed!" Harry assured them. His stomach was practically floating with hope, if he was going to have a detention with Snape then that meant that Snape might actually talk to him again! At least threats and promised punishments wasn't ignoring him.

"Perhaps I should escort our young rule-breaker to his dorm so he doesn't try anything else," Snape told her. "Unless you'd like to do something more to him tonight?"

"I'm surprised you're not going to punish him tonight, Severus," she told him in an almost flirtatious voice.

"I find anticipation . . . heightens the punishment," Snape explained slowly. "He knows what's coming to him, and he will get to think about it for the entire day tomorrow."

"That would be fine," she told him, her cheeks pinkening as she smiled. "But I expect him properly punished, Severus."

"I am surprised that you would think I would do less," he drawled. "Mr. Potter will surely regret his foolish behavior."

Harry followed the billowing robes of his potions professor through the hallways. He wasn't sure what to say, but he wanted to say something.

"Thank you," he finally burst out, figuring thanks was always a good way to start.

"You're welcome," Snape told him in clipped tones. "But I don't think you're going to say that tomorrow."

"Probably not," Harry agreed. "But please sir, will he be alright?"

"That was a completely false memory," Snape told him. "He was nowhere near there. If you had been able to get there, you would have been captured or maybe killed."

"I told Ron to tell you so you could call the Order!" Harry insisted.

"Then there would have been a pitched battle as we tried to rescue you," Snape nodded. "Possibly costing the lives of a member of the order if not you. I'm surprised you didn't take friends along."

"Ron wanted to come," Harry admitted.

Snape snorted. "That was very foolish, Potter."

"It was," Harry agreed. "Thank you for stopping me."

Snape nodded.

"Please don't do that again," Harry said, close to tears.

"Do what?" Snape asked, though he knew what Harry meant.

"Ignore me," he said, the tears beginning to fall. "Hate me. I know what I did was wrong, and I tried to f-fix it . . ."

Snape sighed. "I'm not good at this, Potter. I'm not good at having people like me, particularly not children. And I'm not good at helping you with your emotions."

"Just p-please let me a-apologize."

"I will think about it," Snape told him honestly. "I can't give you more than that now."

Harry nodded, swiping at his tears with his sleeve. Snape sighed and took a handkerchief out of his robes, offering it to the boy. "Crying and I haven't even punished you yet."

"I'm just so happy you're talking to me," Harry blew his nose. "I don't care how you punish me."

"You will tomorrow," he drawled. "Now here's the portrait to the tower, it is long past time for you to be in bed."

"Yes, sir."

"And I'm serious about what happens if you leave again," Snape told him.

Harry nodded. "I trust you," he answered, and then paused. They both knew the significance of what he had said.

* * *

 _AN: Maddierose: I think this is an excellent start to your story. You should really post on this story, you have a clear feeling for these characters, much more than I could. Thank you for sharing your work with me, I enjoyed reading it._


	9. Chapter 9 - Trusting Snape

_AN: There will be at least one more chapter after this one, most likely two. I'm not sure if I'll do a sequel to this one or not - we'll see where the muse takes me. Thank you so much to everyone who is reading, commenting, and enjoying my story. You guys are the best!_

* * *

Harry spent the next day in nervous anticipation. Part of the nervousness was about his impending detention, true, but also about Sirius and what would happen with him. And would Snape forgive him so they could be like before?

At breakfast, Ron waited until Hermione was there and then hissed, "What happened?"

"I was caught," Harry explained. "By the toad herself. And she called Snape to give me veritaserum."

"I ran to get Snape," Ron explained. "And I was in his office when we got the call."

"Thank you," Harry told him. "Snape came and, well, made it better. He offered occlumency instead of veritaserum, and I showed him everything. He said I would get the . . . well, get the cane if I left Hogwarts, that what I saw was false, and then took me to the dorm."

"Didn't she punish you?" Ron asked incredulously. "She just let Snape take you back to your dorms?"

"He, well, he yelled at me," Harry explained. "It was a ruse, you see. We were trying to fool the toad. Then he said I would have detention with him tonight with the, well, with the paddle."

"And she accepted that?"

"Well, I did protest a bit," Harry grinned. "I actually begged for detention with her instead of Snape. She practically wet herself with excitement that I was so scared of him."

"So you do have detention with Snape, then?" Hermione asked with excitement. "Does that mean that he, well . . ."

"He's talking to me at least," Harry nodded. "And he said he will think about whether or not I can apologize to him. It's a start at least, the most hope I've had in a month."

"But won't he, well, won't he . . . use the paddle?" Ron asked uncomfortably.

"I think it's probably most likely," Harry admitted. "But if it could be over, well, I don't care what he does."

"I have a few healing salves laid by," Hermione told him. "Some bruise balm and pain reliever I made in potions. Come by after if you need it."

"I will," Harry promised. "He's not going to abuse me, you know."

"With the amount of rule-breaking you've racked up, I'll be surprised if you can sit down again this month!" Ron joked.

"Thanks a lot!" Harry jostled back, but felt better somehow. Sure, he was a bit nervous about tonight, but at least the end was in sight. By this time tomorrow, hopefully, he could be back in Snape's good graces and hopefully again fully planning the toad's downfall.

, , ,

Harry barely ate dinner, worried about what was coming and also barely able to ignore the knowing looks and little grins from the headmistress. She smirked and hummed, excited to see Harry squirming uncomfortably. Obviously she had underestimated her potions master and his ability to terrify his students. And he understood his place as a half-blood as well, he nodded to her authority instead of prickling and challenging like that Transfiguration professor. She had high hopes for him.

After dinner Harry watched Snape excuse himself and head back to his offices. His stomach twisted a little bit in anticipation and fear, but he sternly told himself that it was no more than he deserved, and at least this would all be over soon. He carefully measured out ten minutes since Snape had left the table, and then excused himself. With sympathetic glances from Ron and Hermione, he made his way to the dungeons.

Knocking on the door of his office, Harry shivered when he heard Snape's calm voice command, "Enter."

Gulping, Harry did so, and carefully closed the door behind him.

"Come closer," Snape ordered the boy firmly, and Harry rushed to obey. He walked over to the desk that Snape was seated behind.

"First I would like to inform you that your Godfather is safe in his hiding place," Snape told him. "Though he was most anxious about your well-being, he is in fact unharmed."

"Thank you," Harry breathed. A bit of guilt crept into his brain, however. What would have happened if he'd gone and gotten to the ministry?

"It was lucky you were able to show me what happened," Snape told him. "And you played your part well for the toad."

Harry nodded. "Thank you for rescuing me. Are you going to allow me to apologize to you?"

Snape sighed. "Perhaps after your punishment," he told Harry stiffly. "I am still quite cross with you."

"Of course," Harry agreed, then placed a parchment on his desk. "I wrote down my apology too, just in case I got nervous and didn't say everything I wanted to. You don't have to read it if you don't want to, I just wanted to give it to you. And I know you have to punish me for last night, but I wanted to ask you to please punish me for that . . . awful night before, when I hurt you so much."

"I doubt you could bear such a punishment," Snape told him darkly.

"Try me," Harry told him, deliberately walking over to the side desk that Snape had had him bend over before. Harry noticed that it was clear this time, as if Snape had prepared it for him. With a quick smile of chagrin, Harry removed his robe and then bent over the desk.

"What if I decided to use my belt?" Snape asked, his voice dark and silky.

"I told you I would take whatever punishment you decided," Harry told him, and managed to keep most of the shake of fear out of his voice. "I meant it."

Harry could hear the faint metallic click of Snape unfastening his belt, and the heard the light snap of leather as Snape doubled the belt in his hand. Harry's stomach flipped in fear, but he held himself in place. _It's not like I've never had the strap before,_ he told himself harshly. _And for much less reason. At least I deserve it this time._

"Hold still," Snape told him.

Harry nodded, nervous past where he could speak, and waited for the blows that were sure to come. He found himself grateful that Hermione had a supply of bruise balm waiting for him, he was surely going to need it.

Then, suddenly, Snape wasn't beside him any more. Harry twisted his head to see Snape seated on the other side of the room on the sofa, his face pale. Harry pushed himself off the desk in confusion.

"Is everything alright, sir?" Harry asked.

Snape sat, staring at the belt in his hand, and flexed the leather reflectively. "Sit down with me," he invited, his voice dead-sounding.

Harry sat in the chair beside the sofa and waited. He wanted to say something, but sensed that Snape was trying to work himself up to say something to him, so he just waited. At least it didn't seem as if he were getting the business-end of that strap, anyway.

"The memory you saw," Snape said softly. "The one of your father torturing me and humiliating me. Your mother, well, your mother was trying to defend me, and with my battered ego I saw it as another attack. I called her 'mudblood.'"

"I saw," Harry admitted. "It was awful."

"She never forgave me," Snape told him. "I tried to apologize, but she was too angry. It is part of what drove me to the Dark Lord."

"She should have forgiven you," Harry told him.

"Perhaps," Snape nodded. "But I think she also understood the darkness that was seducing me. Perhaps she would have in time if she hadn't married Potter. All I know is that her refusal to forgive me drove me somewhere dark. And I was willing to do the same thing to you. That is, until I saw what was really in your head. And now, with you trusting me like that, I've found I can't hate you, and that I've been a fool to let my hurt and anger push you to darkness."

"I won't go dark!" Harry protested.

"You were willing to let me take a strap to you to make it right," Snape sighed. "It would not have been much longer before it made you bitter. That's where it starts."

"I'm just glad you're talking to me," Harry told him honestly.

"Of course. And I think you've had the strap before," Snape told him, his shrewd eyes sizing up the boy. "It was not out of ignorance you made that choice."

"You're right," Harry admitted, looking away. He didn't like to talk about that, and in fact this was the first time he ever admitted it. "But it hasn't killed me before, so I figured it was worth it."

"I would have thought the same thing," Snape nodded. "My father was a brutal man, and I let my anger and humiliation push me almost to the point of turning into him and abusing you."

That truth hung between them, neither speaking. Snape broke the silence with softly saying, "Harry, I need to apologize to you. I should not have treated you as I have these weeks past. I should have confronted you the next day, punished you, and moved on."

"I understand how much I hurt you," Harry admitted, Snape's use of his first name not lost on him. "Hermione explained that it wasn't just what I did, but that it showed that I didn't trust you. I'm sorry."

Snape nodded. "I accept your apology and I forgive you," Snape told him. "I am still going to punish you however."

Harry nodded, it some ways it was a relief to be punished and he could stop feeling so guilty. "Thank you, sir."

"But I need to know that you know why that was such a violation," Snape told him. "I want to trust you, but I need to know that you understand."

"It was a violation because you trusted me," Harry answered. "You would not have left Ron alone in a room with a pensieve full of your memories. Those were memories you were protecting in order to teach me, and I violated that. I knew it was a pensieve, and I knew those were memories you didn't want me to see. I thought my desire to see if you were trustworthy was worth more than your privacy. I was very wrong."

Snape nodded, mollified. "You do understand," he agreed.

"I also paid for that knowledge," Harry continued honestly. "Up until then nobody ever said anything negative about my parents except for you. And now I've seen him being a complete idiot and bullying you as you were totally outnumbered and humiliated. Trust me, I would give anything not to have seen that."

"I see that you do understand more than I realized," Snape nodded. "Good. Though those are memories I did not want you to see, perhaps some good can come from that debacle."

"I hope so," Harry whispered, then shook himself. "Do you want me back over the table then, sir?"

"Over my lap this time," Snape told him without explanation. "And I will not use the strap."

"Yes, sir," Harry responded, though he was nervous. He knew from television that sometimes parents placed a child on their lap to spank them, but he had never experienced it before. The Dursleys would never want to have touched him enough to have him on their lap. When they hit him it was more chaotic and frightening, a smack or a cuff or even a punch, but not really a spanking. And the time Snape punished him for the Murtlap was the only time anybody else had ever tried.

Awkwardly, Harry laid himself across the man's bony knees, feeling the softness of his robes under him. Snape helped position him properly on his lap, and wrapped his left arm around Harry's waist to hold him securely. Harry felt trapped for a minute being held like that, but then also felt as if he were close to Snape. He had never really been held by anybody except for a few stray hugs from Molly Weasley, and he found that it was . . . comforting. As if he wasn't just an object of wrath for an angry adult. But his backside also felt high and exposed, and he grimaced knowing that it was about to face that wrath.

"You will not even think about leaving this castle again without my express permission," Snape told him. "If you have a vision or an emergency, you are to come to me first. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed. It actually felt really good to have someone insist on helping, most of the time Harry felt as if adults didn't care very much.

"This punishment is going to be for being out after curfew, trying to get to the ministry, and also for snooping in my pensieve," Snape informed him.

Harry's stomach felt like it was drenched in ice water and then wrenched sideways, but he nodded. At least it would soon be over.

Snape brought his hand down on Harry's trouser-clad bottom, slapping it with force. Harry let out a small yelp, but tried to stay still against the temptation to squirm on Snape's lap. As the spanking continued, however, he found it nearly impossible to keep from squirming. His legs kicked up involuntarily, and he found himself pushing himself up on the tips of his toes. Snape methodically spanked his entire backside, ending with several painful slaps on the curve of his upper thighs.

"And now six with the paddle," Snape told him. "And then we'll be done. Accio paddle."

Harry closed his teary eyes against the paddle, he didn't want to see it. He knew full well what the paddle felt like, and he didn't want to feel it on his already burning bottom. But he didn't protest, and felt Snape pull back his arm. The paddle then fell sharply four times, popping against his bottom with some force. Harry stopped caring about seeming strong and stoic, and he cried out piteously as the paddle fell.

"You have two more to go," Snape told him. "And it will be done. But if you ever snoop like that again, you will not be sitting for at least a week. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, his voice hitching. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Then don't do it again!" Snape growled, and smacked the paddle twice more.

Harry cried out, but then relaxed over Snape's lap in relief. It was over, and Snape had not hurt him more than a stinging bottom. As soon as Snape finished with the paddle the sting was already beginning to fade.

"It's done," Snape told Harry in a softer voice, patting his back awkwardly with his own stinging hand. "It's over."

"That hurt!" Harry told him, but not getting up.

"I'm sure it did," Snape said seriously, but with the corner of his mouth turning up a little. "It was meant to."

Harry slowly sniffed and pushed himself off of Snape's lap reluctantly; he enjoyed the closeness that it had shown. Though his backside throbbed, he felt so relieved that he could almost hug Snape. Harry grimaced a bit at that thought - what if Snape knew he wanted that! The man would probably be horrified at the idea of Harry feeling any sort of affection towards him, let alone Harry beginning to feel as if Snape could be a sort of father figure to him.

"I saw what you have managed to do on your own as far as ousting the toad," Snape told him. "And the work you have done is satisfactory. But there is much more to do."

* * *

 _AN: Maddirose - well, you can keep going like you're going. I did that for years - just writing for my own enjoyment and maybe sometimes letting a friend read it. But you can also try and convince your parents. Gmail is free and easy, and if they're worried about what you might do online you can always offer to let them have your login information and check up on you if that would make them feel better. You obviously already have online access, so it would seem logical for you to have an email that they could monitor if they want to. Whatever happens, good luck and keep writing. I've enjoyed the work that you've sent me._


	10. Chapter 10 - Trapping the Toad

_AN: This is the penultimate chapter, just a warning. :) Thanks Margot11 for making me think more about Umbridge's perspective on Harry._

* * *

Dolores Umbridge started out having a good day. The house elves made her tea just how she liked it, and with four lumps of sugar it tasted perfect to her. The breakfast was to her taste as well, full of fluffy sweetness rather than boring foods like rashers and eggs. And she would think that after such an auspicious beginning to her day that things would continue so, but she was soon disabused of that notion.

She knew part of her good mood was that she was able to punish Harry Potter again last night, and that always made her happy. She had even gotten the added bonus of his dismay at having the girl who was with him punished as well, even though he begged for her to be let off or given what he termed a "standard detention." Umbridge had laughed at that, the boy had grown to fear her quill. When she had lost her chance at using the quill on him a few weeks ago it had somewhat disheartened her, but the boy had seemed so afraid of Snape it had made her feel like she had to let him go there. And, she reflected, watching the boy squirm while he was sitting for the next few days did much to mollify her and to raise her estimation of the Potions Master. The boy had even stood during his meals for that next day! Snape had obviously not gone easy on the boy by any means.

"Yous have a visitor," a house elf announced, popping in quickly.

"Who is it?" she asked, straightening the pencils on her desk.

"Theys Goyle Family," she said in her high, squeaky voice.

"I'm sure they just want to congratulate me on the progress of their son," she squeaked happily. "Show them in."

Mr. and Mrs. Goyle swept into her office solemnly. The headmistress couldn't remember their first names, and so was forced to think of them formally, even in her head. One look at their faces made her realize that they were not coming to congratulate her on their son's Defense grade.

"We have some grave concerns," Mrs. Goyle intoned as they sat themselves down.

"I am saddened to hear that," Umbridge answered. "What can I do for you?"

"We have come to find out that you have administered a punishment to one of our blood relatives that brings outrage to our family," Mrs. Goyle snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Your son Gregory has not been in any sort of trouble under my administration . . ."

"We are talking about my niece, Mandy Brocklehurst," Mr. Goyle interrupted in a dark, dangerous voice.

"Your niece?" she echoed. Had that been the brat that she had given the black quill to the night before with Potter? She had been so happy to catch him in mischief again that she hadn't paid much attention to his compatriot . . .

"Half-blood," Mr. Goyle admitted, waving his hand as if it was of no importance. "My younger sister married a muggle. Disinherited, of course, but that child is still a Goyle."

Headmistress Umbridge paled. She had not known that information when she had administered her punishment. She was very careful not to punish children who came from pureblood and powerful families that way.

"And what have you heard from your niece?" she asked, her voice sing-song.

"That you used a black quill on her," Mrs. Goyle answered, emotion bringing a northern accent to her tones. "And on Harry Potter as well in the detention."

"Don't bother with denial," Mr. Goyle sighed in a bored tone. "We've seen the marks, and to be honest we're not that upset. What's left is what you're going to do about it."

"Speak for yourself about upset!" Mrs. Goyle snapped.

"Whatever you say, dear," he drawled in a bored tone. "It's not like she's pureblood. And I'm sure that the Headmistress will do something about it."

"Do about it?"

"Don't you realize the damage control you're going to have to do about this?" Mrs. Goyle asked incredulously. "If you want to torture a few muggle borns or half-bloods, nobody is really going to care. But if that half-blood is a Goyle, then you are playing with fire."

"And using the black quill on Harry Potter?" Mr. Goyle sneered. "I mean, I hate him as much as the next guy, but that's bloody idiotic. Do you know what kind of press coverage he can command as the sodding boy who lived?"

"The Minister will be questioned," Mrs. Goyle nodded.

"He said I could use whatever means I needed to quiet the boy," Professor Umbridge blathered. "But he would deny it, of course, under official inquiry . . ."

"Then you need to get proof to protect yourself," Mr. Goyle told her smoothly. "Obviously you need to be protected from these charges. And they will come, mark my words."

"Thank you," she breathed to them. "I promise not to punish your niece again . . ."

"It's not that we care for her," Mr. Goyle waved his hand in an aristocratic manner. "She's a Ravenclaw, for Merlin's sake. It's more the family name at sake, you understand."

"Of course, of course," she agreed.

"I'm glad we had this chat," Mrs. Goyle said, standing up, clearly still miffed. "We shall be in touch."

"But what should I do?" she asked them as they got up to leave.

"Resign?" Mrs. Goyle told her sarcastically.

Mr. Goyle rolled his eyes at his wife's rudeness and said, "Look, we understand. You've got a school to run, and some of the students are . . . ill-bred. But your choice of the black quill will look somewhat . . . medieval to some of the bleeding-hearted half-bloods. Unfortunately there's enough of them around that you must pander to them, at least somewhat. So you need to protect yourself."

"How do I do that?"

"By proving that your accusers are idiots, of course," he told her. "That they're making it up for the attention, that they are trying to frame you to get back at the ministry. Sort of what like you've been doing to that Potter brat all year."

"That has worked well," she agreed. "Nobody but the Gryffindors believes what he says."

"Then you know what you're doing," Mr. Goyle assured her. "Just more of the same, then. But steer clear of our niece from now on."

"Of course, of course," she assured him.

"And If you're ever confronted on it, surely the minister will lay blame on you," Mr. Goyle told her. "Be prepared for that."

Mr. and Mrs. Goyle swept out of the Headmaster's office, austerely glancing at passing students, and then walking determinedly into an empty classroom. Within seconds they were dressed in their normal clothes, and the Transfiguration and Potions masters exchanged looks.

"Polyjuice would have been more accurate," the Potions professor smirked.

"I believe my transfiguration skills were up to the task," McGonagall sniffed. "And we didn't try to have to get hairs from our subjects as well."

"Phase two," Snape smiled slyly. "I believe phase one to be successful. Even if nothing else goes as planned, our memories should be enough to get her the sack."

"Can he do it, Severus?" she asked him. "You are expecting a lot from such a young boy."

"He can do it," Snape affirmed. "I've rarely met someone braver."

. . .

Minister Fudge was not having a good day. His wife had made him eat oatmeal for breakfast, claiming that it was healthier for him, and hadn't even let him have a few rashers of bacon with it. He sighed. Sometimes even being the Minister of Magic did not mean you got respect in your own home, and instead got a bossy harpy for a wife who seemed bent on depriving him of bacon.

"Minister Fudge!" Minerva greeted him cordially as he stepped through the front gates of the school. "Although I must admit that I still see you as that sweet little boy who couldn't transfigure a matchstick."

"That was a long time ago," he blushed, trying to appear stern and competent."

"Of course! So good of you to come and celebrate with us. And I see you've brought some people with you?"

"Yes, of course," the Minister turned to introduce his entourage. "I believe you know Rita Skeeter, reporter for The Daily Prophet. And I also have my assistant Percy Weasley and Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Greetings," she nodded to each of them. "As deputy headmistress, I welcome you to Hogwarts. I understand you have a meeting with the headmistress."

"Yes," Fudge answered. "It is a chance to show my approval of the educational reforms that she has implemented in response to parental concerns. Miss Skeeter is here to record it for the public."

"This way," McGonagall ushered them. "I believe the Headmistress wishes to receive you in the great hall with the children present."

Fudge, nodding at the sense of ceremony, followed the deputy headmistress into the great hall.

"Welcome, Minister Fudge," Professor announced, her voice amplified with a sonorous spell. "We all are eager to hear your remarks on the educational reforms implemented here."

"Thank you, Headmistress," he nodded, casting the sonorous charm himself. "The ministry is always responsive to parental concerns, and we have undertaken the reform of Hogwarts curriculum and practices in order to respond to those concerns. Headmistress Umbridge has my full confidence in her ability to manage this school . . ."

"Your full confidence?" a voice asked from the corner.

"Who is that?" the minister asked, affronted by the voice. A mere student would interrupt his speech? This was worse than oatmeal for breakfast and Professor Mcgonagall reminiscing about teaching him transfiguration. Was nobody left that showed his office any respect?

"It's me," the voice replied. "Harry Potter."

All eyes fell on Harry as he stood up and faced the minister, his face pale but determined. He hated being the center of all the attention, but he knew the part he had to play.

"Of course he approves of everything!" Umbridge replied. "Harry Potter, you are a disobedient child! You have detention with me this evening!"

"Do you approve of her using the black quill on Hogwarts students, Minister?" Harry asked politely but firmly.

"Of course not!" the Minister thundered. "Those are vile things, only legal for a few purposes . . ."

"You indeed did approve!" Umbridge trilled. "I can provide pensieve memories of you approving its use, to use whatever means necessary to silence the brat . . ."

"Silence, woman!" the Minister yelled, his face purpling. "Do you not know how to hold your tongue?"

"They were right!" she shrieked. "You are trying to have me take the fall for everything!"

"Silence!" Kingsley Shacklebolt commanded, and everybody felt the push of his magic compelling them to be silent. Harry blinked, realizing why this man was the auror that was guarding the Minister of Magic.

"There seems to be an unruly student heckling the Minister of Magic," Shacklebolt intoned. "And I would know the nature of these accusations now, or the student needs to be taken away for school discipline."

"The Headmistress has been using the black quill on students," Harry spoke clearly. "This is Mandy Brocklehurst, she's a first year from Ravenclaw."

Shacklebolt walked over to Harry and the girl, his robes billowing majestically behind him. There was no question who was in charge. The minister looked pale and shaken, and Headmistress Umbridge looked desperate and waspish.

"He is a known liar!" the Headmistress accused. "He is trying to wrest control from the ministry, and will stoop to any level to smear me and my administration!"

Harry winced a bit at her words, but looked up into the auror's face. His commanding presence was belayed by his soft brown eyes, Harry could see kindness in them. Harry also knew that Arthur Weasley liked the man, and he felt a lot better about what he had to do.

"Who is the girl that was harmed?" he asked, his rich voice asked with his slight African accent.

Harry gestured to Mandy, and Shacklebolt took her hand, inspecting the damage done to it. "Why was this done?" he asked her, his voice soft.

"I, well I got in trouble yesterday," she told him. "The Headmistress gave me detention with her, and gave me this special quill of hers. It cut the words into my hand as I wrote, and it wrote with my blood."

"She's a liar!" the headmistress accused. "Surely one child with one complaint doesn't call into question all of the work I've done . . ."

"It's not just one child," Harry objected, his voice shaky. Everything in him screamed not to tell, not to let others know what had been done to him. But he knew this was the moment, this was what Snape had talked to him about. Glancing at the Potions professor and getting a slight nod of encouragement, Harry looked directly at Shacklebolt. "She's used it on me too."

"On you?" the auror's eyes popped open with surprise. "She used a black quill on Harry Potter?"

Harry held up his hand to show the auror. "This was the ninth time," he admitted.

Umbridge became beside herself with outrage. "How dare you!" she screeched at him. "Tell him right now that I did no such thing! Tell him that this is some stupid plan you made up!"

"I must not tell lies," Harry told her, looking firmly at her.

Chaos then erupted. The Minister vehemently denied any knowledge of the black quill, and Umbridge seemed set on trying to deny it had happened while at the same time saying that it was entirely approved by the minister. And of course this caused at first shock and then uproar among the students, even though the weren't sure what a black quill really was (well, not most of them anyway).

"ENOUGH!" Shacklebolt finally yelled, with that same magical silencing effect. "Madame Umbridge, you are now under arrest for assault of a student. Please surrender your wand . . ."

"I will do no such thing!" she shrieked, pulling her stubby wand and pointing it at the auror in fury.

Shacklebolt, an experienced auror who by no means had thought the pink headmistress would go quietly, had his wand out and cast a disarming spell before she even had the ability to think about what spell she might use on him. Her wand flew in a high arc over the students heads, crashing against the wall as Shacklebolt let fly a petrifying spell. Umbridge stiffened like a plank and then fell flat on her back on the ground. Harry watched in shock as the auror then looked back at Harry.

Placing his hand on Harry's shoulder, he said in his warm voice, "Well done, child." Harry, feeling shaken but proud, nodded in response. Then, Shacklebolt looked up and asked, "Who is going to take these two children to the infirmary?"

"My dear Miss Brocklehurst," Professor Flitwick appeared beside her. "Why didn't you tell me? You poor child, so brave. Come, Mr. Potter, you should come too. Nine times? You should have told me, child, I would never have let that happen. Poor children, she probably told you that nobody would care. That horrible beast! Now let's get you fixed up."

"Surely there are no need for these dramatics," the Minister hedged. "Really, Auror Shacklebolt, to petrify her . . ."

"She has used an evil artifact on at least two students," Shacklebolt told him, his eyes levelling. "And one of those students was Harry Potter. Then she actually drew her wand on the auror who was protecting the Minister of Magic. She'll go to Azkaban for sure, and you should be worried about your own position, Minister. I would hate for you to be implicated in such a scandal."

Fudge paled, but nodded. He knew that the least said the better, but he found himself turning towards the students. "I want you all to know that we at the ministry take your education and safety very seriously," he said. "this matter will be looked into." And with that, Shacklebolt ushered them all out of the room. Rita Skeeter, who had been writing furiously and snapping photographs the entire time, protested at his insistence, but was able to be pushed out the door.

Blushing, Harry realized that what he admitted was not only to an entire room of people but would likely be in the paper as well. He sought out the sight of his Potions professor again, and Snape nodded at him again in reassurance. Harry could tell he was pleased. Harry smiled back, and then let Professor Flitwick, who was still fussing over them, usher them to the infirmary.


	11. Chapter 11 - Debriefing

Harry knocked on the door to the Potions lab that night waiting expectedly. He had received a note while he was in the infirmary from the Potions Master that he expected to see Harry after dinner that evening, and Harry eagerly went down as soon as he thought it proper. He was eager to talk about what happened, and even hoped that Snape would say he was proud of how he had followed the plan. And they had gotten her, too, it had made Harry so happy to see her levitated away by Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Enter," Snape welcomed him.

"Did you see her?" Harry eagerly asked. "Did you see the Auror petrify her? It was amazing!"

"Calm yourself," Snape told him. "I can't possibly talk to you with you prattling on so."

"It was pretty amazing, though wasn't it?" Harry asked, grinning widely.

"It was," Snape agreed. "It was a well-thought out plan that worked well. You did your part perfectly."

"It was very hard to tell everyone," Harry admitted, sobered. "But you were right, that was the only thing that would work."

"Was it harder than any of the other subterfuges you've had to participate in?"

"Well, pretending I couldn't sit down comfortably for a day was embarrassing," Harry admitted. "And convincing Mandy to do something to get punished was pretty difficult too. And letting the toad use the quill on me again too was pretty hard. . ."

"I could see that," Snape nodded. "You have done a lot of work to bring this woman down. I hope you're proud of yourself."

Harry blushed and nodded, looking away. "Thanks for, you know, planning all of this."

Snape nodded. "And now with what she admitted in open court, coupled with what she admitted to in private to Professor McGonagall and myself, I think we can safely say she won't be teaching anymore. Would you like to see the article in The Prophet?"

Harry nodded, and Snape handed him the article. Harry squinted his eyes as he read the article, and Snape observed his shoulders hunching and his ears reddening as he read it.

"Did my emerald eyes really glisten with emotion?" Harry asked, embarrassed.

"Of course not," Snape answered firmly. "But that's not what's important."

"What's important?"

Snape sighed. "Didn't you read the article? You are now a sympathetic character, you are no longer being made out to be a liar. Fudge has neatly framed Umbridge for every slight against your character ever suggested, and he's now looking to you for support."

"Support?"

"Of course," Snape told him. "If you come out against him and accuse him of being involved in Umbridge's abuse and smear campaign, he will most likely be ousted from office. So you have to decide what you want to do with him."

"I don't know, I hardly know him," Harry answered, confused. "Did he tell her to use the black quill?"

"Not directly," Snape told him. "The evidence looks like he simply told her to keep you under control, and she invented the methods herself. If there was a direct order there is no evidence of it."

"Will she really go to Azkaban?"

"I think that's most likely," Snape said. "The minister has disavowed her, and is cooperating in the investigation. Other Hogwarts students will be interviewed and identified. You might be required to testify or at least give pensieve memories if it goes to trial."

Harry nodded. "I told and nothing bad happened. I can tell again."

"You can also tell about other things," Snape told him, measuring and softening his voice. "For instance, I have many questions about your aunt and uncle."

"The Dursley's?" Harry snorted. "Why do you want to know about them?"

"Humor me."

"Well, they're not that great," Harry admitted. "They don't like me."

"Do they abuse you?" Snape asked carefully.

Harry blushed and looked away. "Not supposed to talk about it," he said flatly, his voice sounding young.

"I know," Snape told him. "But it's just you and me here."

"Why do you want to know?"

Snape sighed. "Because, despite my best intentions, I am beginning to care about what happens to you. And, though the end of term is still a few months away, I want to know if it's safe to send you home."

"What other option would I have?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"You answer my question and I'll answer yours," he replied firmly.

"At first I didn't know it was abuse," Harry told him. "It felt normal. I didn't realize that other kids didn't sleep in cupboards and be hungry all the time. I mean, Dudley didn't, but I didn't realize that it was unusual to be hated like that."

"I see," Snape nodded.

"And then I started doing what is called accidental magic," Harry admitted, looking away. "That's when things got bad. I mean, they always smacked me and things. But when I started doing accidental magic at six or seven was when the beatings started."

"You seemed unfamiliar with physical discipline when I endeavored to use it on you," Snape observed. "But you were familiar with the strap."

"They never had me bend over for a prescribed amount of smacks to my bum," Harry explained. "It was brutal and frightening. Uncle Vernon would just come at me . . . I would try to run. He would knock me over and then just begin hitting me with the strap . . ."

"I understand," Snape told him, patting his shoulder. "And let me tell you what else I know. You have several breaks that were mended by your magic, not by a doctor. You are undernourished and your growth likely restricted because of it. You don't have to go back."

"But I thought there was something about the blood wards giving me safety . . ."

"I'm sure we can find adequate safety without the 'protection' of your aunt," Snape snarled. "Kingsley Shacklebolt asked about you and your guardianship, I do not think it would out of the realm of possibilities for him to take you."

"I liked him," Harry smiled. "He believed me."

"Indeed," Snape nodded. "The Weasleys could probably take you as well. They are formidable wizards in their own right and should be able to keep you safe. But there is another option that you might want to think about."

"Who is that?"

"Me," Snape answered firmly, hoping his voice sounded normal. "If you wish it, I would be willing to become your guardian."

"You would?" Harry asked, a slow grin creeping over her face. "Really?"

"Really," Snape answered, almost smiling. "I can be a hard person, I know. You will get away with a lot more if Arthur and Molly were your guardians."

"I want you," Harry said firmly. "I've already seen you angry at me, and I want you."

"Then I will make it happen," Snape nodded.

"But is that what, well, what you want?" Harry asked him hesitantly. "I mean, having a ward like me would probably be a lot of bother . . ."

"I want to," Snape answered firmly, in a voice that brooked no opposition. "Your mother was the best friend I've ever had. You know of my . . . differences with your father has caused me to make bad choices about our relationship in the past. But I think we've moved past that now, and I find myself very . . . pleased with the idea of being your guardian."

"Thank you!" Harry practically cheered. "Does that mean I don't have to go back to the Dursleys anymore?"

"Never again," Snape told him. "I could never let you go back there."

"I don't know what to say . . ." Harry said, his eyes beginning to prickle.

"You don't have to say anything," Snape assured him. "Having a reasonable guardian has been something you should have had all along, you do not need to be overly grateful for it. And life with me will be no picnic either."

"More than the Dursleys," Harry smirked, the tears blinked back successfully.

"Good, then, that's settled," Snape told him. "But for now I wanted you to see some memories of your parents that may help offset some of the ones that you saw illicitly. I admit, I have more good memories of your mother than your father, but I did what I could for both."

"Thank you," Harry whispered, his eyes shining. "You have done so much for me." Again, he found himself wishing he could hug the man. He's not sure where the urge came from as he had never been hugged at the Dursleys and rarely since then, but it was nearly overwhelming. He forced himself to remain stoic.

"As it should be," Snape nodded. "Now, would you like to see your mother?"

The End.

 _AN: It is with reluctance that I end this story, as it has been a very fun one to write. I am kicking around the idea of a sequel, but am unsure. I realize I have left some unresolved hugging tension, but I just thought it was too soon for Snape. I also have a few more stories that I would like to write too, so we'll see where it goes next. As always, thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement. And thank you Lilyflower101 for the idea of Snape showing Harry memories of his mom, the more I thought about it the more I felt that was a really good way to end the story. I hope everyone enjoys the upcoming holiday season._


	12. Chapter 12 - sequel announcement

Story announcement: the sequel to this story is now posted! It's called _The Murtlap Thief and the Half-Blood Prince._ I look forward to seeing everyone over there!


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